


On the Brink of Death

by TomAverwood



Series: On the Brink of Death [1]
Category: Grand Theft Auto Series (Video Games), Grand Theft Auto: San Andreas
Genre: Chaptered, Organized Crime, Other, Work In Progress
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-30
Updated: 2020-05-30
Packaged: 2021-03-02 18:40:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 34,148
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24451495
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TomAverwood/pseuds/TomAverwood
Summary: Retired criminal Matthew Franklin has lived a stable life ever since getting out of Vice City but a fateful night has once again put his past life back into the game. As he tries to venture in the sun-soaked state of San Andreas, he may discover along the way that what he thinks isn't what it seems.
Series: On the Brink of Death [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1766035





	On the Brink of Death

### Chapter 1: A Bad Neighborhood

Los Santos's neon eyes shone brightly behind the late night curtains. Towering edifices and its starlights shimmered along the black backdrop. Everything went along, peace and quiet.

Most of the citizens in Los Santos slept with their eyes shut untroubled. Whereas I am still awake from the music blaring inside my Sabre, an old muscle car. I was already heading home, my deliveries done for the day. I lie on a quiet intersection in the middle of East Los Santos, waiting for the traffic signal to let me go. The district was once filled with colorful and diverse characters now a cesspool of misfits and thugs. Rundown buildings towered over the area, its walls scrawled with graffiti and obscenities that added more to its poor reputation.

I gazed out my window to assess.

I looked around and saw no one; not even a sole bystander. As I turned away halfway, a man appeared in view. He stood there at a distance behind me, in a narrow path between two tenements, half-hidden in the shadows. Tall and muscular. He wore grey pants and leather belt, and plain blue shirt. His face blurred by the looming shadow yet his eyes stood out. His gaze dragged toward me, glance flickered as I looked back. His hands were stuffed in his pockets, rummaging something. Doubt had not crossed my mind yet his actions proved otherwise. Then, he stopped. After a while, I completely ignored my suspicion. Recognizing it as nothing, I swiveled my gaze away from him, my fingers drummed on the steering wheel and waited for the signal light to paint my car green.

I glanced at him again and he began to approach me.

Suddenly, everything went a blur. My head entered into overdrive. The split-second motion kept me frozen and it disabled me from my senses.

He quickly pulled something out of his pocket and there it was, a gun. He pointed it close to the driver window, a stretch from my head. My eyes struck between the lines, catching only a brief glimpse of his face.

As the trigger finger closed its mark on me, I shoved his arms skyward without a thought. His hands clipped the upper frame of the window and he flinched in pain, dropping the gun. I opened the door in haste, slammed the would-be killer against it as he tried regaining momentum. Fortunately, he fell down the tarmac, writhing in pain. I got out and stomped his arm against the asphalt, making a crunching noise to boot. He cried in agony. Then, I took his gun from the ground.

A piercing cry through his head stopped the whimper. The single shot sealed my fate and in some sense I realized, I woke up this sleeping neighborhood. Residents might trace the echoing shot and call the police if they knew who did it. An attention I did not want. I bolted away from the scene before the unwanted attention caught up to me.

Three steps in and I sensed something off. The quiet streets in front of me just had an unexpected guest. A van – a black Rumpo, came careening right to me. Tires screeched through the once-quiet street, fiercely like a raging bull.

_Goddammit. What the hell is going on?_

The van drew in closer every second. I looked around in panic for an escape. Left or right, it did not matter. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw an alleyway. Not just one but four ways. By pure chance, narrow alleyways littered the way. Two from the left and the right. No time to make a choice. I relied on my instinct to survive this.

I sprinted to the nearest alleyway. The wheels began to roar loudly toward me. The image of the van grew big as my step closer to my destination dead ahead meant a step closer to them at me. My heart raced and adrenaline let loose in my body just to get away from the road.

I rolled toward the mouth of the alleyway as I reached the corner. The van barreled down toward me but it crashed and slammed itself into the corner. It finally came to a dead stop. The smoking husk blocked the entrance sideways. I rested for a bit to have quick breaths, my body close to collapse from the sudden action.

But fate did not go in its own way.

Within the span of a second, two yellowish-white lights flashed at me. I squinted my eyes against the blinding gaze. It came from another van in front of me, same model from the one crashed behind me. Now, I am in a stand-off. I realized by now that the section of the alleyway I ran into was only narrow and it opened up into a wide alleyway stretching to the only way out of here, right where this van stood. The van hungered for roadkill its appetite could not satiate. I sighed in heavy disbelief but I remained steadfast. With its engine all revved up and geared, I waited for it to go headfirst.

.

..

...

And it was off.

The van led the impasse, its headlights impaling me with its imaginary skew. The lights overtook the night sky with its deadly luminescence. The van sped toward me. I stood my ground waiting for the right chance. In the precise moment, the van closed the gap, now a meter from me and I slid to the right, right out of its path. The van swerved toward my direction and barreled straight through a brick wall. Bits of debris fell from the commotion.

The mangled van managed to stuck itself slightly through the wall with its driver knocked out cold; his bleeding head slumped on the steering wheel. The van came to an abrupt halt. I got up and check myself for injuries. The van missed me barely, grazing my soles by its tires. Though, more of a tap and nothing more.

End of round one.

Round two swiftly followed.

Four gunmen, wielding .44 magnums, got out of the first van that chased me on the streets earlier, greeting with much gusto. Damn it. The bastards really did not know when to give up. They brought disturbance in the area; uncertain to their inevitable doom.

_Shit, I'm gonna be dead meat._

They packed more firepower than mine and a direct hit from a single shot would end my ordeal. If this really was my fate, I accepted this with open arms but my mind said I had to survive. A burning question seared through my head: I wanted to know who caused all of this.

They advanced toward me as I ducked behind a nearby chest-high cover. They were zeroing in in front of me in a 'Y' formation. They fired shots, inching close. It lasted for a brief moment before gunfire stopped. I poked out of cover and quickly capped three of them, marching in from the sides and the front. I got down again to regain. Then, I peeked out of cover again, only to see the last target scurrying away through the groaning night.

I anticipated a final kill but I would give him a chance to live another day... for now. Repent for his sins by telling these fools not to mess with me.

I stood up and investigate the scene. I ignored the unconscious drivers and searched for any useful loot from my fallen foes. I combed through them and found dog-tags and tattoos. I took one dogtag from the last corpse and flipped its side. Engraved on it was a name - Lucky Sevens.

_Ah yes, the Lucky Sevens._

They were just a minor ill-reputed gang residing a bad neighborhood. In the former Vagos territories no less. They popped out of nowhere ever since the Orange Grove rose to power last year. Simply put, just a snippet article in a late-edition newspaper. I gathered thoughts from my actions and walked away from the mess behind me.

### Chapter 2: Point of Interest

I realized that I left my car at the crime scene.

Huh... what a klutz I am.

The effort I exerted to cover my involvement was all for nothing. Yet, gunshots still rang in my ears and the event developed a faint picture in my thoughts. Despite the troubles earlier, I managed to find a lead — the Lucky Sevens.

I am now close toward haven - my apartment in uphill Las Colinas. The nightly breeze blew through the strands of my messy hairstyle; gone was my suave hair. The air gathered the subdued sirens coming from East Los Santos, a couple blocks away from my current location. The muffled noises soon faded away after a couple of minutes. I ruffled my pocket for my phone to call an old friend - Sonny Feldspar. A close friend of mine since way back. I wanted him to know my situation right now.

"Matthew Franklin. You called? Can't you see it's what, three thirty or something?" that cheeky character picked up.

"Well, there's something bad happening right now,"

"What's that then?"

My fingers forked through my hair. "Some gangsters. They tried to kill me. I don't know why or what."

Sonny concerned, "The fuck happened? Well, it was kinda expected coming from you." He laughed in a playful tone and said, "stabbed someone in the back?"

"What?"

"Any idea who's trying to kill you?"

"These Lucky Sevens. Some assholes. What did I do this time?"

He said,"You tell me. Listen, just calm down and lay low for a while. If anyone calls me on this phone. I'll tell them I don't know you eh?"

"Take care and watch out, you may never know what will happen next." Sonny ended the call.

Coming from him, this was expected. Sonny was right about this, maybe I should lay low for a while and pretend that all of this never happened. Seemed an ideal solution for now before continuing to find answers.

I arrived at the apartment doorstep and climbed the stairs toward third floor. Stacked garbage in their bins, year-old graffiti marked on the walls that could intimidate even the filthiest slums, and the familiar old rusty brown paint littered the place. At the end of the hallway, upon arrival from the stairs and going left, was Room 340. The room that suited my condition.

I swiped the welcome mat and get the key. The keys slinked through the lock, releasing a click. I opened the door. I finally reached haven. Filtered city lights gleaned through the tiny slats of my dusty blinds, pouring against the confined darkness. I hung my brown overcoat behind the door and closed it shut. I threw the pistol on to the weary wooden coffee table where it landed with a stiff thud. I sat on my brown leather couch and grabbed the remote control sitting on the far end of it.

I turned on the TV to check the latest events. My only downtime. My only point of interest. A substitute for the outdoors, injecting people with mindless thoughts and unwanted attention. I am no exception.

I changed channels randomly for half an hour trying to drone myself out. I checked the time on my VCR: four oh four approximately. I looked at the TV back again and caught a glimpse of 'breaking news' speeding across the screen.

_"In Weazel News:_

_Breaking News: Five men were found dead and one in critical condition after an alleged gang fight in East Los Santos. Four of them died on the spot in an alleyway while the other was found dead near a car belonging to a Matthew D. Franklin. The police presumed he was the suspect—"_

Here went my five seconds of fame and my life slowly going down the drain. So much for living an exemplary life. A sidebar with an image of a mustachioed fat police officer appeared with the name LSPD Inspector Dave Murphy dashing below the screen.

_"—based on recent records, Matthew Franklin was an alleged criminal-for-hire by local gangs in Vice City. It is unknown how he got involved but this may be expected judging from his criminal background—"_

I quickly turned the TV off, hoping I would never see and hear that news again.

_BLAAM!_

A deafening blast punched through the front door.

_What the f—?!_

Grey smoke and unknown voices uplifted the ambiance and bullets started to fly around as the thick maple door fell on to the floor. I hastily grabbed my pistol and slid to the side of my couch to cover. It seemed that the Sevens found my home, wanting me dead on their feet right on my doorstep. They never seemed to catch a break!

I had to make a quick kill since I had little ammo left. I had to strike back hard and teach them a lesson but somehow, they outnumbered me again. Two men stood by the doorway with another two covering from the sides, the figures masked by the light from the hallway. They searched the depths of the darkened room to see if I was here or dead. Eyes wandered through my things – to the broken television shot to hell, to the fallen picture frames, to the walls pocked with bullet holes; the mess, you name it. I followed through my instincts and surprised them with a shot, hitting the man standing in the middle of the doorway in the throat. The gangsters shuffled back as he fell onto my dirty welcome mat. The body plunged back heavily, making a sickening gurgling noise. He reached for his throat until he finally limped.

_One down and three to go._

They would not stop shouting as if some feral monkeys were set loose at the zoo. They annoyed me. I poked my head out for a second and caught a view of a man exposed. A right opportunity.

Two in the chest and he dropped dead. The other two remained by the sides now left for the picking. They could not run away from me this time! Unfortunately, they retreated in panic. I did not have the time to check and loot so I bolted out of the room and pursued them. Shortly, reinforcements arrived. These were the two retreating gangsters and another two new friends that needed some greeting from my gun.

The short break was over. The show had to go on. The Sevens pushed forward, planning to flush me out. I dashed toward a pillar jutting slightly on the wall opposite of the breached door and shot one of their friends in the arm as I finally went back into cover. They managed to graze me on my left shoulder as I ran. The pain was tolerable. Painkillers might aid me here but unfortunately, I am in a bind. I ignored the wincing pain and moved fast. I shot back at my attackers hoping to land a single hit and went back to cover as soon as I reload. Still, they pushed in close, guns blazing. I had to find a way to stop their movements just for one second. One crucial second.

_Hmm… where?_

…

I found it! The gas pipeline above us. To be exact, an exposed valve of the line protruding out hanging above them.

I waited for the chance to shoot the valve. More shots bellowed the corridor for a few seconds before it stopped. Now, it was time. I shot the valve above. I dove back to cover when I heard a loud ping. The hallway emanated an orange hue, growing size in quick time. The area burst into fire, swallowing up that stood in its path. The pillar protected me from the fireball but the flames devoured the prowling gangsters. The blaze melted through their skin until they were toast.

I strode onto the carnage and collected some dropped ammo as the coast was clear. The rotten smell of smoke from their bodies alerted the fire sprinklers that drooped from the ceiling. Water spouted from the nozzles, raining down onto the burnt carcasses. The stairwell going down was blocked by burnt rubble and I was not planning on going up. I hid by the corner approaching the next hallway cornering the stairs and scoped it out before I advanced. But as I found out, there were none. Only an assailant, now half-burnt and smoking, crawling away from the aftermath. His blood smeared on the floor similar to that of a stereotype horror film.

I approached the crawling man. He groaned in agony. I stopped in front of him. He looked up. His face burnt beyond recognition, reddened and boiled. His eyes fixed in intent to me, filled with pain. Somehow, we already knew what to do. I trained my gun at him. His charred shaking hands held the barrel, gazing through the eye of the gun. The violent rattling from his hands shook the weapon but I held firm. I pressed the trigger and shot him once between the eyes. The bullet entered through soft tissue. His hands surrendered away from the gun.

I abandoned everything behind and moved on to safer ground. Now, I am preparing for what might comes next.

### Chapter 3: Caught in Its Bite, Transformed

A steel door welcomed me at the end of the hallway. I pulled but it did not budge, seemingly barricaded from behind. I had to break through to the other side, even it meant I had to disturb any clueless neighbors. Behind me was a mixture of lukewarm air and charred remains still wet from the upbringing. No one was brave enough to check the uproar out as if my neighbors were suddenly ghosts. Maybe they were warned by those gun-toting idiots before marching in. Seemed logical I guess. No solid plans, just a handful of expectations that would help me here. I braced my body and slammed the door with my shoulder. The force knocked the lock loose.

Now, a T-bone hallway faced me in view. I went to the left since the right lead to nowhere, only a dead end with a boarded-up window. The doors lining the way were barred with planks, nailed haphazardly as if a soft touch could break the entire thing down. I concluded to myself that going in in a graceful way was worthless and with no other options left, I had to find an accessible entryway hoping to reach the end.

All of the doors I forced into stood their ground and the only room left in the hallway to pry was Room 301. I thought to myself that this would be my last chance. Turned out, it was not. The door let out a threatening creak. I sighed in relief. As the door-stopper caught the door, darkness and emptiness greeted me with mysterious answers buried in the room. I flickered the light switch next to the door and a light flashed in an epileptic manner, showing me hints of what I would gaze upon. The lights blinked at me thrice before coming to a dull illumination.

There I saw, as if a tornado blazed through the whole area, the clothes and furniture toppled down and a man lying lifeless on the top of crumpled yet freshly ironed clothes, the iron stand beside him standing amidst the calamity. I assessed the dead resident through sight as I dare not to leave fingerprints. Rope marks imprinted around his neck. Enough for me to deduce that he was murdered. I left the body and approached the window nearby. It slid easily as if someone opened it before. I exited through onto the fire escape. My sights trained the steel mesh floor and splinters and a crowbar lying on it brought me that hard evidence. I met the outside world once again and scents of sulfur and soot gave me a preview of the next scene. The clamor of my steps beating the metal staircase sounded almost a crescendo. My gun infused in my hands as if a part of my body tried to manipulate my next movements. The next floor below was my road to another exchange of love letters in form of bullets.

I descended down and entered through the adjacent window by the landing. Based on the pieces I found in Room 301 above, the glass was also smashed; the missing pieces of the puzzle lost beneath my soles and onto the ground below. The layout was the same so was the disarray. The same procedure laid down on the unlucky resident, lying lifeless on the corner of his hearth.

I pressed on to my next encounter, waiting for me patiently around the bend. I exited the room and ran through an hallway with a path going forward and to the left. I hurried toward the left and immediately hugged against a corner when I saw two Sevens members arguing ahead. They were crouching and handling some kind of a box-like contraption. I cautiously glanced from cover to identify the device.

It was a bomb.

I hid back and eavesdropped in their conversations, pondering to myself what they were doing.

"The blue wire must be connected to the right outlet!" a man instructed. He wore blue jeans and a jersey with a big sixty-seven imprinted on the chest.

His blue-capped, short-sleeved wearing friend looked at him agitated, pliers cranked into the tangled web of colorful snakes. "Why don't you make this then?"

"C'mon man! Maybe if we attach the red wire to the right and the blue wire to the left," the jersey-wearing man said. He pulled some wires while his friend looked at him, "and then, attach the black wire here. Pull the first switch."

"Whatever," his friend reluctantly agreed. They turned the switch on but nothing happened.

I muttered to myself, "That won't end well."

_BOOM!_

An ear-splitting sound reverbrated through the floor, like a clap of a powerful thunderstorm crashing through the building. The explosion came from where the two men stood. The blast ragdolled their bodies against the edges of broken walls and rubble.

Their gang was such a bad misnomer. A pity for them to name themselves lucky. It seemed that bad luck naturally flowed through their veins. Typical. Well, on the plus side here, their mishandling created a literal opening for me.

The smoke cleared and cinder blocks rained down in the stretch of flames of the blackened corridor. Traces of nitroglycerin lit the air up like a Christmas tree. A portion of the floor gave way onto the lower floors below, creating a big hole. Big enough for a four-car sedan to pass through it. I dropped in below and looked at the new renovation my friends gave to this already battered building. The shock wave knocked the floor tiles loose and a fire exit door ahead of me opened ajar, slightly damaged albeit charred. I walked through the destruction and into the stairwell. The fire truck sirens and the murmur of people popped out from the obscurity.

Subsequently, sounds of gunshots followed. I went in haste.

 _"Vamos de esta manera, sé que él está aquí!"_ a dialect boxed the narrow stairwell interior, muffled.

I could not comprehend what they were saying nor the intentions to interpret it but I knew they were coming in close. If it meant something, I had to prepare for the worst. I looked through the slit of the staircase below to find the source. The heads of more gunmen bobbed in from the upward spiral on the ground floor. I fired my shots at them; the bullets hit one of them in the head. The hit assailant tumbled down the stairs, dead. They made a quick glance to the body and up above. They noticed where the shots came and pointed their guns up approaching the stairs. They carried shotguns, pump-actions to be exact. Judging from that and the tight closure I am in, executing them would be a challenge. Nevertheless, I carried on.

One after another, they were blocking my only way out. I hid behind the covered railing that overlook a landing below. They came in slow - a change of pace unlike before I rang the first shot. As they came close, I attacked head-on. I shot one of them in the neck, who tumbled down the stairwell. His body managed to pin the other gunmen, now incapacitated by the corpse. It gave me precious seconds to react. I took them out before they could get up and reach the trigger. The bodies sprawled on the steps going to me. I separated myself from the ledge and jumped away from them and on to the landing. I hurried down the staircase toward the exit.

I thought I was home free but luck turned the tables on me. Fifteen men, armed with submachine guns, waited for me outside in the descending darkness. It seemed that this show had not reach its finale. The burning building behind me turned into a lifeless and disgusting theme. The road in-waiting, blanketed by the golden glow of unperturbed streetlights, also laid into the chaos.

One of the men took notice of my presence as I got out and every one of them rattled toward my direction with gunfire. I took action and pressed myself against a K-Rail adjacent to the ledge near the exit door. They surrounded me, came busting out from their cars and barriers. I am trapped as the bullets rained down on me without pause. I could not ran back to the apartment or the road behind me. The relenting gunfire chipped my cover little by little and I felt the combined power of their attack poking through my aching body. This was the end of the line for me.

The torrent of death stopped and I heard police sirens careening toward our location. Three LSPD police cruisers slipped through the road as the gunmen scurried off like rats. The policemen got out of their vehicles and attempted to shoot the fleeing ruffians but it was already too late. With the police giving up on the attempt and now occupying the scene, I escaped again into the dead of the night, incognito.

The darkness, despite the frigid air pressed against me, became a monster looking for victims to devour. I got caught in its bite, transformed. No end came in my way. I had to find help. I needed someone. Just a few blocks away. But first, I took a detour away from watchful eyes and into Jefferson Motel.

### Chapter 4: Too Stubborn to Die

I walked toward the decrepit and seemingly deserted motel exterior. The signpost flickered overhead, faint hum-buzz in the air. My fingers kissed the trigger lightly, releasing frustrations out of my head. The door opened with a ding by a bell hanging above the doorway. Neither commotion nor palavers ran ahead of me. My gun was on the brink of a breakdown, ready to cry in my hands.

The entrance lobby was empty. A staircase from the left of me led to the first floor balcony and hallway above. The station box under the balcony and beside the stairs was also empty, the receptionist nowhere to be seen. No other way from here but up. I went upstairs and snuck into the hallway, canvassed etches of the rooms, for any threats lurking.

"That _idiota_ is too stubborn to die. _Quiero poner una bala en la cabeza y dejó que sus cerebros nadar en la acera,_ " a deep voice echoed in the hallway ahead.

"Don't worry _esé_. He'll be dead by morning," another man in a raspy tune entered the dialogue.

I sought cover from the first room I entered, right by the doorway. I slightly peeked out to recognize who it was. One wore a black wife-beater and camo cargo pants, brandishing an Ingram, and a man wore an olive jersey, white short-sleeved undershirt and blue jogging pants, possessing a sawed-off shotgun. They walked steadily and unaware toward me, lambasting the wooden floorboards with their footsteps.

"That show in Weazel is great. Too bad in our country, our shows are a piss," the man with an Ingram talked.

"I know Carlito. Wish we had cable," the man with the shotgun complimented.

"Sorry for the interruption guys!" I quipped.

The men leapt out of surprise. I dove out of the cover sideways and fired two shots at them. The outburst of shots darted into the corridors. They lay dead, bullets impaled through them with extreme prejudice.

As the final shot dissipated into the air, yelling and shouting replaced the tones. Now, I woke up the sleeping demons.

More of them — tens or dozens — rushed into my perspective, brandishing Ingrams and sawed-off shotguns. I picked the Ingram up near the recently deceased Carlito, laid beside his friend whose name I did not take account. I fired a couple of shots at them, hitting a running hoodlum in the chest. Four men advanced through the way and ducked behind the doors opposite with each other; two to the left and two to the right. I went to the nearest target and executed the one by my left. I ducked back into hiding and reloaded. I moved on to the next target to the right and killed him while avoiding their shots coming at me. I sneakily moved into the next cover and countered back, hitting the last two in the head. When I passed through a lobby and entered to the next hallway going right, seven gunmen arrived, propped up behind laundry carts and door frames that lined the corridor. Four took cover from the left and three from the right. The remaining enemy on the farthest right retreated behind the group before gunshots came.

I pressed against the corner before the hallway as the bullets came forth. The corridor between us received thirty seconds of unrelenting torrent of lead from them to me and back. The clamor came to a break and opportunity knocked. I counterattacked and managed to kill one of them from the right. I killed two more from the left, then the remaining enemies hastily retreated. I pushed through going from cover to cover and staved off the incoming attacks in the next lobby and corridor going to the right. I picked up more ammunition for my Ingram and pistol, ignoring the painful jab of my pistol resting in my hip holster. I punched myself into the rumble, hiding behind a metallic laundry cart; lying idle on the path. The group, ten men strong plus four from the previous shootout, launched a counterattack against me. It did not went well as they planned as I managed to wipe out eight of them, causing the gang to retreat once more.

I passed through another empty lobby until I reached the back end of the hotel. Same layout as the entrance lobby but without a station box. The only way was to the rooftops. A staircase away.

I rushed up and hid behind the balcony railing and looking a desirable vantage point. I heard a voice echoing behind below. It was another hoodlum, shooting toward my direction without a break. I switched to a cover next to me and waited for the right time to attack. He reloaded and there I took my time, hitting him below his left eye. Just for the good measure, I shot him in the neck to make sure he stayed dead. I vaulted below and went to the body to loot what I might find. After a quick search from the corpse, I obtained a shredded paper card with the name 'Hector' on the print.

 _Hector huh? Who is this guy?_ Despite just some worthless piece of trash, I kept the torn card and went back up.

It had been a long and sleepless night and the black-painted sky started to fade away, revealing a dark blue hue blanketing the skyline. I am getting exhausted from this hour-long grueling fight but I still pressed forward.

I finally reached the motel rooftops. Ventilation chimneys sprouted out of the concrete roof. The remaining group fanned out and hid behind the overgrowth. I felt I was walking in a maze filled with a dreadful feeling over the poisonous air. I need to find a way out of this quickly.

But first, I need to eliminate my obstructions. And there were six of them.

I targeted to kill the nearest hoodlum, a few feet away hiding behind one of the wide chimneys. I switched my pistol for the Ingram, tucking the pistol back into my holster. I shot his leg in one of the gaps, sending him tumbling down. Before he could get up, I shot him three times. With bullets dancing around me, I crouch-walked all the way to the next assailant. Unaware of my current position, still shooting from where I originally stood. I coordinated my actions and proceeded to blind-fire at his direction. When the gun cleared, I looked up to see him dead, dying unaware of my current position. I stood up and dashed relentlessly and slid behind a low wall. I missed death inch by inch, their intensity burning past me.

A couple of rounds pinged. I got up and shot one of them in the chest, out in the open directly at me. With only three people left, this would be a piece of cake. One hid behind a short divider and another hid behind the vent near the fire escape. Flushing them out was necessary.

I vaulted over and hid behind some planks of wood waist-deep in height in a hurry. I hastily shoot the two, almost hitting one from the divider. I reloaded and shot him fast when he got out of his cover. This time, bullets penetrated the body. The last one from the vent tried to run away but I stopped him with three rounds in the back. Finally, there was no one left to fight.

The scuffle was done. I was in pain: bruised and grazed. They were killing to see me. Yet, the feelings were mutual. Despite the amount of time wasted in this idiotic yet stressful fight, I had no moment to lose. Going to Sonny's place was all that filled my busy mind.

Somewhere beyond the crawling dawn, I went to Idlewood.

### Chapter 5: The Coldhearted Los Santos

Crisp indigo tint drenched the coldhearted Los Santos. A faint dash of yellow of separation crept below the horizon. Judging from it, almost five o'clock. Only a handful of cars drove through the streets beside his home: a street facing in the direction going to Jefferson and the other leading to an intersection going to the freeway and Ganton. The slight beat of the city was almost next to nothing.

I finally arrived at Sonny's home foot. His imposing shadow played behind the curtains of his residence. There I went nonchalant and saw my bald friend answering someone on the telephone.

"Yeah, yeah. Sure. I'll be there. Three days tops," he replied to his mysterious caller.

"Okay, okay. I'm on it." He put the phone down with a click. He seemed content and miserable, maybe both at the same time.

"Ah, Matthew! Welcome to my humble abode," he welcomed.

"Hey Sonny, I need to talk to you."

"Is it all about this incident you called me earlier?"

"Yeah. Things are really getting out of hand."

"You can fight this out. We already did this many times so there's no need for trouble."

"That's the problem," I continued on, "my place got blown apart, and I don't have a place to stay."

Sonny chuckled lightly. "Hey, you could stay here for now. Have a chitchat, talk about problems, you know, that stuff."

"Or maybe get something worthwhile," he said, "stay and maybe you could do something for me."

I huffed in a sigh. "It's one of your favors again isn't it?"

He laughed and said, "Oh c'mon. At least it's not that… the time you know… that thing." He then hinted with a whistle.

"Okay, not that though."

"I know. Say, how about I'll make you some breakfast?" he asked me in courtesy.

I accepted his offer.

"I'll be in the kitchen. Be right back."

A million thoughts protruded out of my skull. I stood by the living room window to look the outside world. The pain on my shoulder became hard to ignore. Simplicity was out of Sonny's window. The Idlewood alfresco rose in replacement. Eager people started to wake up from their beautiful evening. Dew sprung, masking my glassy visions with its watery fondue, a bizzare premonition that woke me up from this pale dawn.

I had to control myself by taking a relaxing break in this comfortable armchair. Even for pitiful minutes.

"Matt! Want some of this?" Sonny shouted across the room, the clashing of plates and utensils almost drowning out his voice. I got up from the chair and went to the kitchen, located to the left quarters of the house. Sonny was there, with the food on the table. Hot pea soup and bread. Quite refreshing.

I slid the chair to me and sat opposite to Sonny. He questioned, "Anything you like to add?"

I shrugged with sublimation of uncertainty and guess. "I don't know."

"Maybe champagne will do?" I answered. Sonny's cheerful smile smudged on his face as if it had been permanent.

"Fine," Sonny said, lighting a cigarette.

The aroma of the luscious meal delighted my nose, tickling me inside. I started eating even though I was not even hungry. We sat there, doing the same old routine way back then. Quiescence took over the longed pandemonium. The turbulent shadows of the antique ceiling fan projected below us.

In spite of all the warranted silence, it did not last long. Its defiance came out by a loud shrill outside. Sonny and I got up and checked the fuss.

" _Señor_ Matt! Today is your last day. You're gonna die!" a man with a goatee yelled at us, with black vest and ripped jeans, and carrying some unexpected visitors. Five teal lowriders occupied the wide void street.

"Shit. That's Rey de Santo," Sonny described. Curtains peeled out slightly to avoid contact from Rey but enough for the outside world to be seen.

"How did you know?" I asked.

"Long story," he reacted.

"They'll never make this a bit less easy for us, huh?"

We retreated from the curtains as men approached the entrance. The door shook and beat as the outside force were ramming it down. Sonny entrusted me with a Desert Eagle while he grabbed a combat shotgun right above the bookshelf near the window. We hid behind the kitchen doorway apart. Five men burst in with SMGs and high-powered pistols, all armed to the teeth. The dawn was starting to get wild, unwrapping all the actions in one go.

"We need to take them out, one shot would be great," Sonny whispered to me. He was planning to take the first two then the other three by the entrance.

He was preparing to launch the simple operation, his gun silently clicking. He nodded at me and I nod back in approval and then revealed ourselves to them. Two pierces rang followed by death plunging thereafter. They retreated to the busted door as we moved forward. Sonny took the lead. He successfully killed one of them before hiding at a ledge on his front yard. I followed and took the other ledge. Adding from the five lowriders, two more lowriders and ten assailants crowded the street; Rey was nowhere to be found. I had to find him and beat some shit out of him for these attempts.

"Matt! Fuck. There's too many of them. Shoot the motherfucking gas tanks!" Sonny commanded.

The gas tanks faced at us exposed, awaiting destruction for these gangsters. Sonny cocked his shotgun and fired, triggering the first explosion. A short chain reaction erupted, the gangsters blown away by the blast.

"Matt! Go shoot the next one."

I landed a couple of shots to five gangsters before ending the battle with another explosive chain reaction. The ensuing blasts wiped the rest of them. After a few seconds, all was clear. Burnt car skeletons and gangsters piled the road. It now felt like déjà vu. A closure spiked between my breaths, pitied to what I saw today. A deadly terrain of flames and demise came in our way. Sonny brushed them off as if nothing happened. In his line of sight, Sonny spotted a sedan parked a house away from us. I traced his view and noticed the car as well.

"There, a car! Quick, I saw that motherfucker speeding away. We can still catch him." Sonny hollered.

We hurried to the car as we raced against speed and distance. He smashed the glass window and opened the door through the other side of it. I went in and replaced my Desert Eagle with my conventional trusty pistol. The car sprang to life. Sonny pumped his feet onto the pedal. The car began to move and screeched away. We drifted left from the intersection near a pizza place and saw Rey's car ahead of us. His henchmen took up the seats in the back. As we were closing in the gap between us, Rey's men leaned out to attack us.

We evaded their first round of gunfire and chased them. Rey swerved left from a gas station and we followed, toward the answer I'm looking for.

A bloody history of periodic gang wars and police brutality had long been the oldest residents of Idlewood. Older than its actual residents no doubt. But, this was no different from the rest. I hoped they would crash out or else, they might crash us out first.

### Chapter 6: Urban Intervention

The sun rose from the heavens, upset by this sudden urban intervention. Echoes of car horns, background chatter, and freight trains blazing along the rails beset the sun-soaked metropolis. Fizzy light orange smog stretched across the skyline. Golden rust floated among the clouds, unconcerned and aloof. Amidst the awakening, two cars zipped violently on the criss-cross streets of south Los Santos.

We sped head-on through this dangerous game: Sonny on the wheels and Rey and his men leading us the way. I rode shotgun. Rey had his own, two of them, welding TEC-9s. Rey drove erratically, avoiding us and anything barrelling toward them that might lead to inevitable end. His boys were dictating this shootout, pumping lead to our fragile vehicle. Sonny skillfully evaded most of the gunfire; about three or four bullet holes pierced the car so far. Sonny hurtled down the roaring streets while the leading car tailgated and bumped approaching vehicle facing opposite of them. Despite the occassional collisions, Rey came out of it unimpeded. Obstacles we encountered were unpredictable traffic and hailing gunfire, which we had to obviously avoid. Rey promptly shied away from traffic, turning toward the train tracks then sharply turning right toward Ganton - Orange Grove home turf. Sonny followed but he hotfooted toward another route. Sonny did not follow Rey to the tracks but instead, stayed from the road. For a second, we lost sight of Rey but Sonny drifted down the next intersection toward Ganton and we finally caught up to him.

"Come and get closer Rey," Sonny muttered. He changed gears and pressed hard on the accelerator.

We continued past a clothing shop and an intersection. Rey drove straight toward the cul-de-sac and turned left through a narrow alley between a ramshackle wooden brown two-storey house and a cement fenced abode housing a pick-up truck. Rey exited the alley and proceeded to turn left and then left again before a bridge, down the Los Santos River. Sonny swiftly followed onto the river, trailing behind. Rey made a wide u-turn in the river and zipped below the bridge, in the soles of Los Santos.

"Come and get me!" Rey taunted.

After a brief moment, his backseaters stopped firing at us and brought out an unexpected twist to this game — satchel charges. Avoid the satchel charges on the ground or game over.

They dropped the first charge. Sonny veered away of the trajectory as it exploded beside us. We survived barely. I leaned out the window of the car again as soon as we were out of the blast and aimed at the tires.

They dropped another satchel charge. Unfortunately, Sonny slipped through an on-ramp, though managed to miss the bomb again but somehow missed my shot. Rey turned left toward another section of the river and Sonny slowed down, enough to distance ourselves from the incoming charges but not enough to lose Rey in the chase. Explosions rocked as we flew two tunnels in the river, now passing the boundaries of Downtown.

Bad news struck us again. By the time we went past another bridge, four goons showed up, trailing behind us. They rode motorcycles - PCJ-600s - with the backriders equipped with pistols and uzis. I prioritized the incoming attackers while Sonny focused on tailing Rey. I aimed for their exposed front tires, ready to shoot. However, there was this _disadvantage_ , Sonny kept the car out of his usual control, as a result, wobbly. I had to forcibly accept this uncomfortable situation.

Right now, I had to take the incoming attackers out one by one instead. Despite my poor aiming, I hit two of them in the face and they tumbled over the wet slate. This did not stop them long enough, though. Eleven riders came crashing down behind once I took out the first wave. More bad news. Rey's friends still threw charges at us but the good news was that two clueless attackers got caught in the blast, saving me some valuable ammunition.

Stacking the odds against us, a ramp truck came crashing down a bridge behind. Four motorcyclists rode beside it acting as a convoy, joining in the fray. Ignoring the truck, I concentrated back on the motorcycle-riding attackers, shooting some of them haphazardly, hitting three by stroke of luck. We soon passed through a tunnel with haste and taut. Seven went on and hurried straight to us. Three of them were about short of a three arms length apart. The truck was not far behind, although as if it could not cope up with this rush and go. The mayhem echoed through the tunnel. Shots blazed through the echoes and explosions ripped through our attackers behind.

I battled it out against the motorcyclists. An unfair battle but a battle even so. My pistol was running out of ammo yet there were enemies that needed a handful to be shot. I could not rely on the Desert Eagle for this chase as its powerful recoil would completely kill my aim. I also hoped for the thrown explosives to blow them apart, not us.

However, the infrequent explosions only destroyed three of the pursuing attackers. Fortunately, the pillars in the middle of the tunnels were also their weakness. Even if my shots missed, their attempts to evade would be their undoing. After a couple of minutes in the chase along with their capability to hit those pillars with relative ease, it reduced their portion to just four attackers. I ended this charade by putting a bullet in each of the four riders patiently, biding time focusing for each shot. I hid back in the car to reload as the final four rolled onto the pavement.

"Matt! Shoot the ramp truck!" Sonny shouted.

The attackers were dead, and only the convoy remained, now drawing near. The truck, based on my observation, looked like it had thick plating as if its panel were made of titanium. On the other hand, the windshield was not. The driver was clear to shoot. I could not see beyond the windshield well but it seemed like he wore a trucker's hat and a sleeveless plaid shirt. I focused my sights dispatching him. I was on a gamble; the chances for a hit were slim. I only had three bullets in the chamber left so I changed to the Desert Eagle for this one despite the inaccuracy. I had to be careful and consider the gun's firepower and recoil or I would be a mangled splatter on the pavement.

As bullets zipped by us and pinged into the shell of our vehicle, I armed myself with the Desert Eagle and fired at the rider front-left of the truck. Then, I struck the second rider on the right. I fired off more shots toward the remaining riders at the back of the truck's sides, hitting them. Now, just the ramp truck driver and us, without interference. The challenge presented to me was hitting the driver and it proved difficult because of the distance between us. I applied optimism here but to no avail. The rough patchwork floor of the concrete river along with Sonny's erratic driving made my aim worse.

I tried shooting a couple of hits but it only hit the hood and made a crack on the windshield - worsening the driver's and my line of view toward him. I fired two shots. Only one bullet hit the windshield, completely shattering it apart. I reloaded then back again to the same routine. I thrust myself on to the side at the edge of the car window a little bit to get a good view of the truck driver. I raised the Desert Eagle and shot the vehicle again. This time, I luckily hit the driver square in the face. The driver slumped at the wheel dead. The ramp truck swerved to the left toward the tapered walls and tipped on its side, sliding across the riverbed. The truck blew light grey smoke coming from the steaming hot engine as it slid to a halt. The remains of the metallic beast began to disappear from our view. After a moment, the truck disappeared behind us. The zooming speed and the squealing of tires caught me back.

Sonny said, "Now's the chance to shoot the tires."

I complied.

Finally, Rey was not on his nerves anymore. We entered into a tunnel with the exit nowhere in sight. I am at ease after several minutes of gunning down nameless bastards. I leaned out with my gun and shot both back tires. Rey's car rolled over and skidded over the riverbed. Sonny stopped at a distance of the rolled over vehicle. Rey ended upside down with his boys dead inside, hanging in their seats. Rey unbuckled and crawled out of the car all bloodied and limped. He caught a glimpse of us as we got off our car and he fled away through a maintenance tunnel. Both Sonny and I pursued him, with our guns prepped up and ready.

### Chapter 7: Marked for Death

"Be ready, this doesn't look good," Sonny sensed, guns drawn. Rey disappeared from our sight.

Sonny felt an unusual presence permeating the vicinity and so did I. The tunnel ended in a room filled with steam, industrial fans, pipelines, and useless junk. Rats and unidentifiable creatures, big or small, lived in the lurid spaces of the maintenance room. Oil slicks and the musky smell of rotten residues and chemical compounds filmed the squalid confinement. Still, we were unperturbed by the triggering senses. Sonny looked cool and prepared, following the trails of blood on the floor. I was just following him wherever he goes, maybe leading me to the answers I am looking for right now. I held my gun firm, aching down my nerves. The sensation of pain on my shoulder seemed to fade away. Sonny was in his focused state, down to the edge. His shotgun relaxed, well-mannered, and poised for combat. I bet we would be in another round of gunfight, yet again.

Sonny scanned the next room before we proceed. He paused for a minute and remarked, "Ok, this basement's clear."

We hurriedly went to the stairwell connecting the room.

"What's the catch?" I asked.

"What? Oh, him, right? That's your catch."

"Really?"

Sonny looked back at me slightly and shrugged. "This is your problem, not mine," he said, "go first Matt."

I nodded in response.

We went up the staircase going to the upper floors. We heard a noise; the usual noises. The noise came from the fourth floor, right where we heading.

"Be ready," Sonny said behind, patting me on the shoulder.

I nodded back in an answer and opened up the door. As we barged in, they began to fire at us. We quickly find cover. The rinse and repeat procedure. I saw them hiding in the maze-like office white cubicles, about ten men. No office rush fortunately. Perfect for a gunfight like this. At least no casualties would impede in our way.

I took potshots while Sonny nonchalantly walked through the barrage like an unstoppable machine, killing them left and right. He cleared the path for me, or maybe only for him.

They dropped dead as we picked them out one by one. Several minutes passed and the ten-men strong force got decimated. Now, a well-deserved breathing space. I stood up out of cover and examined the place, now riddled with glass shards, bullet-dotted cubicles, and papers scattered across the floor, some dirtied in red. Sonny stood there, face silent and motionless.

"C'mon. No time to waste," Sonny rushed.

We searched for Rey, now marked for death, but his blood marks vanished as soon as we came in hot. We went to the main office hallway adjacent from the cubicles and took the elevator up. By chance, we found the trail again - a bloodied fingerprint pressed on the bank of buttons - the tenth floor button. Obviously, that was where we would be heading. The elevator doors were closing in and so were we. I pressed the stained button and waited for the elevator to take us up to our target. Sonny simply stood there, lackadaisical by the fighting and the elevator music. After a few seconds, the elevator stopped at the designated floor and opened…

…and the gunfire resumed in a repetitive loop. Rey's boys greeted us again and we responded back in kind. This did not impede us, though. I scored two or three before I went through another process of reloading and shooting. Sonny somehow beat me again with four kills. Three enemies remained and after that, they suddenly ceased fire and retreat.

It was odd but rather it was not because they had to surrender, but they brought Molotov cocktails to the party.

One of them threw a bottle and started a fire close to us. The flames swiftly consumed through the cubicle blocks, engulfing anything within its reach. In a few quick seconds, the outlook went bleak and fiery. They thought they could burn away my pain but they only made it angrier. They trapped us inside this blazing inferno.

Everything was burning; a million-mile reflection searing in my eyes. The room was scorching hot, flames sweeping across like an uncontrollable wildfire. Dark smoke smeared through this doomed confinement. Sonny and I covered our face from the noxious fumes. We had to find a way out from this sea of flames. We pushed ourselves through the intricate burning. Deadly smoke gathered around us, pressed our lives to the tip. We coughed up for breathable air and had to look for an open spot. After a frantic search, we made it out of the deathly maze and barely escaped the heat. We paused briefly and breathed in as much air as possible before continuing.

We ran out of possible leads. The trail disappeared again and our only hope was to find where they ran away. We recovered ourselves as soon as possible and hurriedly bolted through the hall. We saw one of them speeding away toward the fire exit, going up.

"That fucking idiot didn't think we'd seen him," Sonny said, still panting heavily. I could only smile and sigh since I did not have the energy, words, and air left to speak. All I needed was Rey and that was it.

"Hurry, follow them," Sonny commanded.

I followed suit as we hurriedly climbed the staircase to the top. Inside the stairwell were echoes from the gangsters above, seemingly panicking and running toward our prime target. My guess was that they too did not know where Rey was, but they might provide us the location. My task now was to follow them if not killing them was the first option coming from Sonny's mouth. I looked up and saw three of them finally reached a safe distance from us three floors away.

"Look! I see them! Three floors above us!" I shouted.

"We need to run faster," Sonny exclaimed as we proceeded toward them.

We finally reached where they were at and as usual, they trained their guns at us, propped to any protection they could find. Though, we did not arrive unprepared. As we propped up on each side of the office entrance, the remaining gangsters fired, shifting from cover to cover trying to confuse us. I took a quick look and saw four gangsters moving yet no sign of Rey anywhere. I gestured to Sonny to advance before any bullets started firing again. Sonny went it first and I immediately followed but held back by a sudden shot near my face, barely hitting me. I fell on my back away from the door. I saw where it hit, leaving a deep breach in the wall close to me.

"Are you okay?" Sonny asked.

"Yeah. Yeah. I am fine. They nearly got me. The bastards." I got up and rejoined on the action.

"Okay good. Now, help me finish this," he said.

I waited for a second to act back while Sonny did all the covering fire. I glanced for a second and knew the opportunity was there. I advanced inside, hiding on the same opposite side as before.

"You take the left and I take the right," he commanded.

I nodded in response and immediately turned left. Then, I saw two men hiding between the cubicles. I dashed to the nearest cover and targeted the one right next to me. I shot back, emptying my clip into them but all of my rounds missed. They responded with more gunfire. I quickly entered cover and reloaded. I shot back again and managed to hit one this time, the farthest target, on the forehead. The remaining gangster took a step back covering behind a neck-high divider. Behind him was a tall transparent window. I approached to flank him stealthily and took cover behind the right side of a cubicle near the divider. He looked back, pointing the gun at my previous location. I fired two shots as he checked, hitting him square in the chest. He fell, leaning against the glass window. By the time I killed my last enemy, Sonny killed his last.

"I can sense Rey here," Sonny said reassuringly, tucking his gun away.

"But where?"

"Maybe in the bathroom," he guessed.

I gestured to Sonny to go first and he replied with a smirk with a hint of cynicism to me. I soon followed.

We arrived in the toilets. "Where is he then?" I asked.

"One word - knock." Sonny kicked the door with full force.

The door slammed hard by the force of the kick and the lock broke two places. We found Rey slumped on the toilet, tired and bloodied yet confident.

He laughed menacingly. "Looks like you have found me _holmes_ ," he said, wearing a suspicious grin on his face.

I glared at Rey and looked back to Sonny.

"What does that mean?" Sonny asked, looking at Rey.

Rey just laughed and said, "Behind you."

Sonny and I look back in rhythm and—

_Thwack!_

### Chapter 8: A Downfall of Us All

#### Vice City, 1989

Vice City was on its late days of near gaudiness, pop music, waning fame and glory. Sunshine frisking among the vibrancy and diaspora simmered into the famous white sands and magnificent Art Deco-styled hotel chains lined the famous boulevards of the summer town. However, living here felt like purgatory. Despite all what the city could offer to everyone as heaven, there were remnants of hell crawling around. Criminals, refugees, and drug lords were vying control over Vice City. Their stories were unaccountable but all I knew clearly among the seas of lowlifes was that an infamous ragtag group of professional criminals called the Ace of Spades terrorized the city for months…

…and that group was us. This time, we were working for someone, for something.

"What you have there?" Rafe sighted something I held in my hand.

"Diamonds. Found it over at the docks," I replied, examining a pebble-sized diamond.

Pristine, clear, and flawless. A _gift_ from a friend of mine, so to speak. Ten of these of the same size in the pouch. In this turbulent economy, it was worth three million dollars each and lo, was it. The interest of potential business spoke through me from the rocks but it did not crossed my mind yet.

"Let me see that." The curious Rafe snatched the diamond from my hand, examining the rock himself. He went wide-eyed, full of excitement as he thoroughly inspected the whole thing.

"What the hell... these are ACTUAL DIAMONDS!" he exclaimed, awestruck. I smiled, watching him with a mutual outlook. To be honest, I had the same feeling as that of Rafe's but I kept my enthusiasm down low.

"WE'RE RICH!" he shouted, arm and fists raised high, "I can finally own a mansion in the hills, sports cars, anything! My god, I can finally get out of this place."

"I wouldn't be so sure 'bout that."

"Why's that?" he asked.

"I got it from a friend but, he won't be asking for them again."

"Fuck that shit. It's ours now. Look at this! Look. At. This!"

"I mean, we have attracted so much attention for the past days. First, from the Mafia, then the cops, drug dealers then what's next? Diamond smugglers?"

"Don't be such a pansy. Look, we'll split these so if anyone comes around looking for this shit, at least we can plan around, just in case," Rafe suggested.

I pondered around the idea for a bit. Then I said, "Fine. We'll split this along in equal shares."

He tossed the rocks to me. I caught the very fine diamond, transparent as freshly made glass, with my hand. Together, we share the news to the crew.  


#### Present day

Here I am, all tied up inside a helicopter. We hovered at tree level, on a clearing. Far from the city, the countryside I presumed. The place looked greener than usual and trees of varying heights dotted around the place. Ridges rested nearby. To be honest, I did not know this part of town and to answer why we were here, well... we were caught off-guard. Kudos to Rey for giving us another shitty situation. I felt my head throbbing from a painful blow; I could not even balance nor stand up because of this. I felt the taste of steel and dirty water. How disgusting. I was so close on my trail.

Goddammit. We should have anticipated this.

I did not need reflection right now. Too preoccupied looking at a sharply-dressed man looking at us with a smug look on his face. He looked Hispanic. His two guards beside him were armed with high-end gear vests and carbine rifles. My hands were tied tightly behind my back to a pole and an unconscious Sonny sat next to me hands tied as well. We were slumped on the mildly hot, vibrating steel deck while my three new acquaintances sat in their cozy seats. Their odd manner of treating their guests it seemed.

I had not seen this guy before, but all I know by logic, was that he was one of Rey's boss. Judging from his thirty-years-ish looks and hell of a mustache on his face, he seemed to be in a very commanding position higher than Rey. I mean, look at how he dressed: clean-cut and poised. With an expensive light grey suit with cufflinks to match, loafers and a motherfucking tie, he was an ideal model for all of those who wanted to pretend their 'gangster'. But this guy was not a pretender; he looked stern. Right now, he was showing me their way of handling business.

"Hey, you piece of shit!" he talked with an angry look on his face. Chopper blades droned outside.

"Who are you talking to? Cause I only see you and your buddies here."

"Fucking funny," the man uttered at me coldly.

I only smirked, proud of what I had said. I managed to piss him off a little. For me? It eases me out a bit.

"Do you know why you and your compadre are here? Eh?"

"Enlighten me."

"Well señor, you and your friend crossed my business partner. Owed him something."

"And who the fuck is he and owed him what?"

"You don't need to know more about him. You're gonna die anyway."

"Just get to the point you fucking prick," I said, annoyed by the way he talked to me.

He leaned toward me. "Where are the diamonds?"

"I don't know what you're talking about man," I calmly declared myself to his question.

Well, it seemed that I found the owners but were they the real deal? No matter, I hid my share of diamonds somewhere safe, hopefully the others did the same as well. No way was I giving it up. Naturally, I lied.

He leaned back and said, "Fuck you! Do you think you can lie to me?"

"WHERE ARE THE MOTHERFUCKING DIAMONDS?" he forcefully demanded, loud enough to drown the muffled whirring sound of air and helicopter rotors oscillating into the cabin temporarily.

"I told you I don't know," I answered back, louder as I could.

"Do you think my business partner is a dumbass huh? Hijo de puta!"

"Tell your boss to go fuck himself."

"Maybe I should have to kill you myself but he doesn't want a valuable asset go to waste."

"Oh am I? You should kill me here then. Right now."

"Don't play fucking games now ese. I know where your friends are."

"What?" I was taken aback, "you're bullshiting me. How long have you been following us?" I called out his bluff.

"No I am not. I know where all of you are after leaving Florida. We're just waiting for the right time," he said menacingly.

"Fuck you."

"Suit yourself mi amigo. Go get me the diamonds."

He signaled his guards to untie me. They cut the rope tying me to the pole and grabbed me in the arm. In my mind, I wanted to struggle but grasping the situation I delved into right now, might as well not. I kept my cool and followed myself to where they would accompany me. They put me on the edge of the cabin. The guard slid the door open, blasting a sudden frosty air and the sound of the roaring rotors inside. I could not see a great deal of the view outside because of the intense force of the whirlwind blasting on my eyes. The guards spun me in the direction of this mysterious man. I finally could open my eyes, enough to see him retrieving something out of his pocket.

"If you destroy or lose this, we'll make sure your friend here stay this way. If you don't give me the diamonds back within twenty-seven days, let's just say you won't see your families, friends, OR your relatives ever again," he instructed, "Adios señor Matthew."

It was a sign of a downfall of us all as the guards let me go. I fell backwards onto the clearing.

THUD!

The force ached my back far more excruciating than a whiplash. I think I heard my spine faintly crack. I looked up to see the chopper moving up slowly. Then it hastily took off, along with Sonny, in it.

I hoped no harm befall to Sonny. If they did, I would let the bastards pay. All I needed to do now was to follow that man's command. Should I retrieve the diamonds or not? Who is this man referring to as his business partner? These are my questions marked in my head. I hoped my group did not spend the diamonds on cheap blow or something.

The tender tall grass cushioned my fall and the pain was not as severe as I thought. I dusted myself off and picked up where I left. Sunlight poured over the offshoot and the cloudless blue sky stilled across. Foliage and canopy around me. Faint outlines of ridges and valleys nested the background. Deer hopped around the clearing and quickly disappeared off into the shroud of forestry. I am in the middle of nowhere and my only way getting out was to follow where the helicopter gone.

I strode down the imaginary trail I conjured. Fifty shades of green and undertones of brown harmoniously blend in the surroundings. The ambiance was mellow. The birds chirping, the wind producing a melody of the breeze, fresh air, and the swaying of verdure; the crunching of leaves and frosty grass underfoot, and tranquility were all the music that I needed right now. I was at zen.

I strolled along the wilderness tirelessly, covering at least a quarter of a kilometer maybe. It finally pay off though as I found a mud trail; a mark of civilization. However, the trail slept there as if no one used it. No one darted past nor noise emanated from off-roads and campers, and neither asphalt or vehicles had sighted nearby so far.

Time slipped by after following the trail and I finally found a semblance of civilization. It was a rural gasoline station and diner, situated right next to a busy highway. The barrage of passing vehicles, mostly tractors, farm vehicles, and motor-homes bellowed from the busy lanes. It felt like society abandoned me. It was an unusual experience without contact from anyone; rare enough to know that no one attacked nor tried to kill me for at least an hour or two. I am in a foreign land in a familiar place.

I wanted to know where I currently am from someone here in this gas station.

I dawdled around for a bit and saw a mechanic - a fat guy wearing red overalls, white undershirt and a green trucker hat, wrench sticking out the pocket of the overalls. He was just loitering outside a modest diner beside the station, preoccupied with smoking his Redwood cigarettes. I did not mind what he was doing, I wanted to ask where I am. I walked toward him, readying some questions.

"Excuse me mister, do you know where is this?" I asked.

"Whetstone, my friend. Are ya lost?" he drawled, wearing a southerner's accent.

"I kinda am. Where's the nearest town here?" I replied.

"Angel Pines, just two miles from here," he said, pointing at the highway and moving his hand right in a forward manner, "follow the highway and y'all get there."

"How far is Los Santos from here?" I asked.

"Boy, from where ya stand, y'all take an hour to get to Los Santos."

"Is there a taxi here?"

He snickered and said, "No taxi here, boy. See the highway? Do ya think a taxi go 'round here?"

"Never mind. Thanks for the information by the way," I thanked him in gratitude, walking away from him.

"Wait!" he yelled.

I turned around. "What?"

"I could give ya a ride to Angel Pine. I can't transport ya to the city but ya could stay in a motel there if ya want to," he offered.

"Thanks man. Wasn't planning going to the city anyway," I accepted.

He tossed his cigarette away. "Let's go, my pickup truck is parked right there."

"Okay," I said as we casually walked toward the truck which was parked, right there.

His pickup truck, a Sadler, had bits of car parts and tools lying on the back. The truck looked like it suffered heavy work and mileage. Nevertheless, it was still serviceable. I looked in astonishment as the driver door opened, despite the obvious state of disrepair. He got in as I waited for the passenger door to be unlocked. He sat in the driver's seat and reached for the lock from the other side. A click sprung and I let myself in. I sat waiting as he tried starting the engine. The first time he twisted the keys, the ignition did not respond. He tried it again, twisting it for the second time.

"C'mon you piece of shit," he mumbled low as he twisted the key for the third time.

This time it worked. The engine coughed up quite violently and now we were raring to go. The mechanic turned the wheel in reverse. He pivoted for a bit before going to the open road. We exited the station and sailed away toward Angel Pine.

### Chapter 9: Feud for a Losing Game

For a very long highway, it sure garnered this much heavy traffic. After all, one of the ways to enjoy a vacation in San Andreas was to go cross-country and explore the uncharted wilderness, hoping to survive a game of unexpected predicaments. People here were escaping the hustle and bustle of the city streets. Motorhomes, camper vans, sedans, family wagons, SUVs, farm folk cars, harvesters, and everything I normally despised were here. They taunted me with arrhythmic barrage of horns and engine parts. The unimpeded cacophony was unbearable. All I could think of was to throw myself out of this car and head back to where I was dropped off.

We headed to Angel Pine, a supposed bedtown. We were still on the road doing a decent speed in this continuous flow. Tall trees overlooked the side of the highway contentedly and the rolling hills flashed past through my view with shadow and cloak.

This mechanic offered me a ride going to this town he mentioned. I would thank him for this but I wanted to know his name first, out of curiosity.

"What's your name friend?" I asked.

"Name's Butch," he said, "why y'er here by the way? When y'er city slicker, ya should've stayed city slicker."

"Butch right?"

"Yeah," he confirmed, eyes on the road.

"Well Butch, I had little problems from my… friends. You see, they're survivalists… and I can't bear the fact how they live in the woods so I abandoned them and tried to get out of here… then I kinda got lost on my way and look at me now," I claimed with brief pauses, gathering thoughts.

"Okay friend. Why is there blood on y'er shoulder? Hit a branch on y'er way here?"

"Ye-yeah. Slipped at a branch by accident and grazed myself. It's just a flesh wound."

"Okay. It's kinda unusual here someone like you got out of the woods alone and alive," he said, "I mean… I heard many weird things happ'ning 'round here. Ghost cars, Bigfoot, the chupathingy."

"That's great… so, uh, what county is this?"

"Flint County."

"This is quite a county. Never heard this one before—"

"Well, y'all just city slicker," he interjected.

"Of course, I am a city slicker. I never had any experience going out of Los Santos."

"Where from ya then?"

"Stockton, Carcer then later years, Liberty City."

"Liberty City? I never heard it before."

"Probably because you're a farm folk."

He paused and looked at me with a flat, almost disappointed, look. He then chuckled with a smile. "Good one. Tell me more about this— this Liberty City."

"Goddamn awful. I got sick living there."

"Oh. Glad you moved here. I mean, here is lovely. Smell the fresh air, the game, fishing… this here is the true American life."

"Technically, I'm not moving here and okay Butch. Might as well be taking down notes on the activities if I'm down to that."

"You haven't seen much around here boy. You should explore the great outdoors more often."

"I'll keep that in mind, Butch."

We drove over a bridge - Whetstone Bridge according to the sign sticking by the roadside. Providentially, the noises lessened as we drove further into our destination. As I looked back to the window in relief, a humongous mountain zoomed onto the backdrop. I never seen this type before. Like Tower of Babel with its peak finally touching the doors of heaven. We drew closer and the mountain grew taller. A bit breathtaking, to be honest. Three times taller than the Bank Tower back in Los Santos. A Goliath with its sheer grandeur and magnificence. It almost eclipsed the sun with its splendor. Its umbra soaked us with wintry delight. Leaves danced in beat. Lump of rocks and boulders ready to roll down underfoot made up much of the details of the mountain. Dispersal of pine trees and dry weary trails snaking its skin traced the jagged rocks.

And I almost forgot that we were closing in in Angel Pine.

Butch drove to the highway exit and past towards a trailer park, entering the town. He took me on a minitour, showing me the places of interest like the gun shop, Cluckin' Bell and of course, the motel for my stay here. It had few residents and nothing unique could be described here other than a typical rural town, aside from the mountain and the occasional general needs. Out of the town's bareback were more forests and a logging company nearby. In addition, the town had its absolute necessities, like the town clinic and deputy's office.

We completed our little joyride and arrived at the motel entrance. Butch stopped by the driveway with the engine still running. I got out and looked around absorbing the scope of the town, mostly at the glorious mountain towering nearby.

"This sure is a charming place, Butch." I turned my head looking back at him.

"Well yes, it is. This yer place erm… uh… what's your name friend?"

"Call me Matt."

"Okay, Matt. T'was nice knowing you. This is all I can do for you."

I patted the roof by the passenger's side, leaning out the window. "Don't sweat it, Butch. Thanks for the lift by the way."

"Don't mention it. See ya, friend," he said. He then drove away from the driveway.

He disappeared through the sleepy streets of the town. A sign that I should start checking in this motel, called the U-Get-Inn Motel.

I looked at the facade for a jiff and went in. Quite a handful of people lurked around the lobby. A man sat on the lobby couch reading newspaper and two guys stood gossiping near the door; one of them was the security guard. The receptionist was nowhere to be found. While I waited, I observed. A ceiling fan above us, centered, soundlessly moved against the chatter of men and the racket coming from the TV. The lobby was fitted with shiny red tiles at waist height then white painted wall strewn across the rest. From where I stood, there was a door by the lower left of the room. The couch and the TV propped to the far right, occupying the space of it and near the entrance of the room hallway. The reception desk faced the motel entrance, in other terms, on the upper left part and the room hallway beside it was on the upper right. There was a door between the desk and the hallway; presumably that is where the employee's room is located.

Within minutes of productive observation, the receptionist finally arrived. He exited the room between the desk and the hallway. I turned around as he went to his spot.

I immediately asked, "Do you have any rooms available?"

"Well yes, sir." he replied crisply.

"What offers do you have around here?"

"Just a sec, sir." He retrieved something below the counter. He got up, looked at me, and gave me a laminated menu, "Here it is."

I looked at their prices for the rooms, deciding where I should pick, "Huh, I think this one I guess?" I took back my word, "No, no, no… not this one. Scratch that." I carefully inspected all the prices that I could afford to pay.

I finally decided, "This four days, four nights room and bed."

"Excellent sir," he complied.

He presented the motel's log and wrote my selection. He filled up any required information needed in the book and promptly handed it to me along with the pen he used, which required my name and mark. I hastily wrote my signature.

He retrieved the logbook from me and placed it on the counter. He turned around getting a room key from the boxes that stick out behind him and said, "Sir, come with me."

"Okay," I said. He got out of the reception and walked towards the hallway. I followed.

We ushered into a dimly lit hallway, like a corridor of a cinema. Cabin doors lined the hallway. The doors were coated red, made out of birch or redwood. The hallway was void of life, only the receptionist and I. We strolled through the hallway, footsteps batted the wooden floor dressed in red carpet. The noise in the lobby disappeared as we walked halfway.

We reached the end and turned left to another long hallway. It started freaking me out a little since the corridor was ear-deafening silent and the receptionist would not budge to talk a bit or look at me for just a second. Finally, we reached our destination - Room 115.

"Here it is sir. Room key," he said then handed me the key.

"Okay, thanks."

"If there's any problem. Just head to the desk or call us inside," he said.

I nodded at him.

He nodded back, "Okay, sir," he then left.

In my mind ready to lie down on a bed after a bitter day, I impatiently jammed the key into the doorknob. It took around three turns before the unlocking clicked. I turned on the lights. I promptly closed the door as the lights started flickering. I walked slowly over. I saw the bed, resting on the right side of the room. I flung myself into it and landed on its soft belly. I sighed in comfort.

I should now rest for the night. I kept thinking about that mysterious guy and Sonny, still with them, hopefully alive. I had to find Rafe and Frank, wherever they were. I know Frank gambled so I assumed he was living in Las Venturas or Atlantic City. Rafe, well this was hard for me to guess, maybe in Europe or back to Carcer, who knew at this point. He never mentioned where he would be going after we last seen him in Vice. I had to find them fast and acquire the diamonds from them if they had it.

The location of Sonny's share was a mystery, only he knew that. What a conundrum. My share of the split was at the apartment back in the city, now destroyed by the Lucky Sevens. Hopefully, it should be intact from where I hid it.

I had no way to contact them since that bastard in the chopper replaced my phone. My contacts and other precious information gone. However, I still had my wallet so that was a bit of good news, I think. I had to plan this ahead through. But, I had to rest, preparing my feud for a losing game up and coming.

### Chapter 10: A Long Way to Fall

Here I am again, all alone and weaponless. Still the same. Kind of predictable. Moreover, I am stuck right now in the middle of nowhere, all tucked in and practically clueless. Though I planned my course of action. Even then, I am still stranded. Great.

I already used up a day's worth of time resting and cleaning my wounds. I woke up before nightfall and just recently finished an early pre-dinner. Now I am back in my room again. Well, a bit small but it made me feel at ease. The bed on the upper right of the room with a sizable window parallel to it, the TV hung up on the wall facing the bed and the bathroom right next to the room entrance were all the closest amenities as I could get from here. Sort of a homely feel from my apartment but, better.

To expend my time since I am sleepless as fuck, I would detail my plans for myself tomorrow.

1\. Tomorrow, go to the gun shop located a block away from here. Purchase a gun there by morning or possibly in the afternoon, late lunch.

2\. Next, buy a new set of clothes.

3\. Then, contact Frank or Rafe by payphone after.

No way I would contact them by phone. That Mexican fella bugged this phone or something. I also doubt he knew my location. Maybe this phone also had a tracker but I did not mind that and even if he did, I would just play along.

I paced back and forth inside the room, still thinking out more plans to start my day out for tomorrow. What else?

The phone vibrated in my pocket. I hastily picked it up and answered this caller.

" _Señor_ Matt! How are you doing eh?" he greeted.

"You know how it is, fucking asshole! What do you expect how am I doing huh? Going for a joyride or out for camping?"

"I don't know," he replied, "maybe staying in a motel?"

I staggered myself as I peeked from the room window to see if someone was following me.

But all I could see was darkness enveloping the forest and town ominously. The silhouette of the trees made an eye-squinting impression with underlying spookiness and mystery. Out on the eerily vacant street was no one. Really. No cars or people past by, only the street and its lights, standing firm without a care. However, I felt that there was someone watching me from afar and I know it was not the ghosts.

"Are your boys following me?" I looked out of the window, shifted glances toward outside.

"Nope. Just guessing here _mi amigo_."

I turned around and sat on the bed. "Fucking liar. I know there's a tracking device. No way you let me go that easily."

"Suit yourself. Your hunt started yesterday. Remember, twenty-seven days."

"I know that, Jesus Christ! Where's Sonny?"

"No need to worry, he's safe. We'll take care of Sonny for you," he taunted.

"Don't pull some strings on me you piece of shit."

"Eh, whatever you say Matt. And please, call me Victor."

"Victor. What irony—," I snickered lowly.

"Goodbye," he then immediately dropped the call.

That was an interesting call from Victor. I know what I should be doing and I did not want anyone to reiterate further. I am not that foolish.

Anyway, I let the unwarranted provocation go out of my head and return to normalcy. I put the phone back into my pocket and lie on the bed. I grabbed the remote control behind my back and turned on the TV. The first thing I noticed when I turned it on was a hunting channel. A documentary — a deer hunting show — located in the woods somewhere in the U.S. of A. The presenter was a Southern-type fellow. Big, wearing a plaid t-shirt, cargo pants to match and very hairy. A common biker disguised as a truck driver. I'm not stereotyping here. The show was not my taste so I changed to a different channel. The following was a conspiracy channel. Then again, change. The next one was sports. It was basketball and after all, everyone loves basketball. I stayed up watching, maybe appreciating the game.

It was morning and somehow, I fell asleep unknowingly throughout the night. I woke up groggily and lethargically looked around. The TV was still on, its channel still in sports, now showing a game of hockey. The rays of the sun pilfered through the room window, looking all cheery with its radiance reciprocally embracing my complacency. It brightened the room, overwhelming the interior lights that dispelled the darkness of my room last night. I looked at the clock behind the bed to check for the time. Ten thirty-four briefly, now ten thirty-five as the long arm reached the point. I got up, stretched myself and went to the bathroom to freshen up.

After my bathroom visit, I turned off the TV and the lights. I got out of my room and went to town to start my plans. The daylight gave me a bright smile and a warm hug. Now that it kickstarted my energy a bit, it was time to go to the gun shop.

It was near — a block away. The town still in its usual state. The occasional farm trucks and city vehicles whizzed by. Alongside, people (residents and rednecks mostly) meandered peacefully. Birds chirped from the woodland, some flying across the Angel Pine vista. The trees howled along the cold country breeze. It was a seemingly routine day which delighted me at least. Maybe I should consider settle in here. It was more relaxing than the city and no one would find and kill me here, maybe. Just wishful thinking.

I arrived and entered to my destination - Ammu-Nation. The loud PSA raucously blaring inside immediately welcomed me inside. The pungent smell of gunpowder and American patriotism gave way. Big stacks of weaponry mounted the racks that could slaver an exotic gun nut's mouth. Vast arrays of submachine guns, rifles, pistols, and projectiles hung the walls. Bullets of different sizes and measurements were sold here too - hollow points, FMJs, .50 cals, and rockets. Fully stocked. It was tempting but I would rather buy the right gun for the right job. They were cool and all but impractical. Convenience first.

"Hello. Welcome to Ammu-Nation," the shopkeeper responded to me monotoned.

As I finished roaming around like an art critic looking at the models in a museum, I went to the shopkeeper. He wore a beige wife-beater and military pants. Military haircut and a midlife crisis-age mustache no doubt. He stood there looking at me austerely. I asked him, "Uh, hey. Do you have a pistol that's really cheap and affordable?"

"Do you want a Saturday Night Special?"

I simply laughed mildly and said, "No thanks. How about an M1911?"

He monotoned, "Why we do have those. Want to check?"

"Sure, why not," I snappily answered.

He spun around and walked toward the pistol rack, on his right side. He slid the glass door and grabbed a pistol. He came back and said, "Here it is, sir."

He handed me the pistol, all-new and polished. I safely examined the magazine barrel and cocked the gun, to make sure it was duly new and functional. As I examined it more, the shopkeeper detailed me with information about the pistol which I already knew about.

He detailed, "That's a Browning Semi-Automatic Pistol, sir. It weighs 2.44 lb and 8.25 in length. Holds seven rounds and has been used all around the wars including the USA-Australian War. Works well in crowded areas." I inspected the item silently as he lay out information. Now that I finished the gun inspection, it was my time to buy it.

"Okay. I'll have this gun," I said.

"Wise choice sir, wise choice. That'll be three hundred dollars."

"Can you accept a credit card?" I inquired.

"Yes, we do," he said.

I handed my card to the shopkeeper to take care of the rest. "Oh, an ammo pouch, 34 rounds of ACP and a holster as well."

He nodded in response and I quietly put my card on the counter. He walked away to get my order, watching him as he retrieved them. A couple of minutes, there he went back again with my items all at the counter ready to be checked out. He took the credit card machine out and swiped my card in it. He handed the card back, all paid. I could now take my items like a proud consumer, geared up after my items had checked out.

The shopkeeper expressed flatly, "Have a good day sir."

I answered in a nod as I calmly exited out of the shop.

I am back to society again arms wide open, same ambiance and all. I hoped the residents of Angel Pine would turn a blind eye from my new looks. With these things around me, it was hard to ignore.

Anyway, on to my next plan: buy some sets of clothes. I needed to find a clothing shop here, hoping their threads were not loud or tasteless for my liking. I quietly tottered along where the General Store might be. I turned left among some buildings adjacent. There a clothing shop appeared across, named 'Billy Bob & Sons Co.' Sounds like a country shop to me. I peculiarly walked toward the shop, just to prove myself. Assuredly, it was a country shop. The place sold great clothes at affordable prices and it piqued my interest.

The store atmosphere was country-like, like those from the movies, probably a bit too much. A deer's head mounted behind the counter above, trinkets of southern origin drooped over the walls, and of course, their merchandise stood positioned in an aisle. I ought to check them. Quite decent and not too scruffy. Loud t-shirts, farmer overalls, plaid shirts, Confederate-themed garments, tartans, hunter's vests, Barbour jackets, overalls, game hats, trucker hats, cowboy boots, cowboy vests, wooden sandals, slippers, cowboy boots, cowboy hats…you know, anything country. They were all over the place.

However, there were actual city clothes on the bargain bin. Might be donated or recycled. I expected an adequate piece of attire would pop out from it so I could exit this place unabatedly. Some time elapsed, I found a checkered motif t-shirt and washed out jeans, all creased. I picked them up and went to the dressing room. Once I finished trying out the size (perfect fit), I walked toward the counter in a fast-paced manner and purchased the items. I tendered it with cash as soon as it was finished.

"Can I change into your dressing room?"

"Whatever par'ner," the young man uncaringly answered.

"Okay."

I hurriedly went to the dressing room to change.

Now, I am a new man. Perfectly apt for me. Not too loud and not too out-of-style either. I went back to the counter and asked the shopkeeper for some bags for my old clothes. He gave me the bag in the riposte and I went back to the dressing room to pick up my stuff. I round up my old clothes and exited the store. I stood next to the entrance and wondered on to the next step of my agenda.

 _Yes, right!_ Call Rafe or Frank for their whereabouts. I had to find a payphone. Using this cellphone would invite even more unwanted trouble.

I found a pay phone not far from the store, just a stone's throw away. I approached it right away and ruffled some quarters in my pocket. First, call Rafe. I still remembered his number and am confident enough that he did not change it this time. I dialed it and to my deep relief, it rang. I heard a phone picking up.

"Hello?" that recognizable voice responded.

"Rafe. It's Matt," I retorted.

"Look who came back from the dead. Why on earth are you calling me?"

"Listen. Sonny's taken hostage by this Mex—"

"What? Sonny's kidnapped again?" he interjected, "what the fuck dude? When's the last time? I know that stint of ours in Liberty."

"I know. I know that. Look, it's different from Liberty okay. It's those diamonds, from Vice."

"The fucking ice?"

"I need your piece. Sonny's life hangs on it."

"What are you talking about? We found it fair and square. Tell them to fuck off."

"What about Sonny? Are you okay letting him die like this?"

"Face it, all of us have probably spent the diamonds away."

"Well I haven't and Sonny I'm sure also haven't."

"But I have, here."

"Where _here_? Where are you?"

"San Fierro. Are you still there in Los Santos?"

"Nope. I'm in this town, Angel Pine."

"Angel Pine? That's nearby. I'll just drive from there, it won't be that long. We'll talk more about the diamonds later. I'll have to think about this first."

"Okay."

"Where are you staying?"

"At this motel here. U-Get-Inn Motel."

"I'll call you when I get there."

"You can't."

"Huh? Why?"

"Bugged phone. Can't trust it."

"Ah shit, Matt. Really?"

"Yes."

He loudly sighed. "Good grief."

"Hey, do you know where Frank is?" I asked.

"Frank Morgan or Frank Castillo?"

"Our Frank."

"Oh, Cas— …ohh. Frankie. I don't know where he is."

"I see—"

"Don't bother calling his number. Changed numbers or something."

"Oh."

"Hell if he's dead that's not unexpected. I have to go Matt. Meet you there."

"Alright."

"Watch yourself, man."

"Thanks, Rafe." I put the phone and left the place.

A path opened up to me, at least. I had Rafe's contact. Next, Frank's location. I should start with Rafe first, that way we could know Frank's thereafter. I had to prepare to meet Rafe… yet again. Besides, this was not a long way to fall. I am sensing another cycle here.

Huh, here we go again.

My plans sorted itself out and things went in accordance. I went back to the motel to prepare.

### Chapter 11: Dead on Arrival

It had been almost two hours since I called Rafe, already tired worrying around in this motel room. Around me was loud silence, only the ticking motion of the clock and the sullen noise of the outside world kept me company in this dull state of mind. Ears buzzed with ringing. Outside, the murky sky covered the afternoon sun, looming over the neighborhood as if someone plotted a sinister curse on this land. Muffled booms of a thunderstorm crept up over the horizon as I slowly lost my mind in this boredom. I sprawled on my bed thinking of plans, sometimes wondered out of my mind. I looked up behind me to check the wall clock above the bed.

Huh, two thirty-seven.

Gentle pitter-patter of raindrops began to knock on the frosty glass windows; a light precipitation befell onto this solitude. Then, the downpour started growing louder and the groaning winds smacked the walls outside. Thunder boomed overhead. Just an ordinary rainy day. And here I was left with my own, cementing my pitiful misery.

Finally, I heard knocks on my door.

"Wait!" I yelled.

I got myself up the bed to answer the knockings. My footsteps beat in hollow onto the carpet floor as I reached for the door. I welcomed his arrival.

Rafe Bealy. A close friend of mine back in Vice. There he leaned by the door in all of his glory. Nothing on him had changed since we left that town. His rugged look – a mark of a five o' clock shadow and haggard hairstyle as if he came from a hobo camp was pretty much intact. He wore something new, a silver pendant around his neck. He sported a black coat – a favorite color of his. He wore a grey plaid shirt underneath, judging from its collar slightly popping out his coat. To match with his outfit, he wore grey khaki pants; all sleek and stylish. He strapped a silver Crowex to boot, wearing it on his left arm. He wore a smug look on his face.

"What a situation you got yourself in here?" Rafe greeted.

"Trouble seems to come after me. Come in," I remarked as Rafe entered the room.

"Yeah, I am unsurprised. I know what kind of shit you're up to. Heard it all over the news," he said strolling along, his eyes scanning the room hoping to find an interesting outlook of my current life.

"Thought it was only in LS," I said, quietly closing the door.

"So anyway… aside from your situation, how's life coming along?" he commented, twirling his hand.

"Great, for a while," I replied.

"Uh huh. Oh, me? I'm doing fine in San Fierro. Great apartment. Having a time of my life. This bistro in Queens, The Deer, really good. I'll take you there if you want to visit SF," he said.

I sat on the edge of the bed as we continued this welcoming conversation.

I heard much of San Fierro but I had not visited it yet. Since Rafe came, I knew it was inevitable that I would be going there. It was not bad sitting out in this idyllic environment. Though sometimes, it got old real fast. Surrounded by lush greeneries and towering redwood pines taunting you in every whim, I got nowhere and no one to run to. A modest town for sure but lacking in the 'all-around feel' department. Naturally, I took up his offer.

"Thanks. But I want to talk about something."

"Yes, the diamonds. I know, I know. To be frank Matt, I don't have the diamonds with me anymore. I already sold it, months ago," Rafe quickly declared. He shed his slightly wet coat and quietly placed it on top of the dresser beside the bed.

"Where?"

"These Triad motherfuckers."

"Just great. Just great," I complained under my breath.

"Hey! Don't drag me into this. I already told you. We got those diamonds so we have a say on what to do with 'em!"

"No no no no no," I replied in rapid succession, "I got those diamonds so I have the higher power on what to do with it,"

"Whatever man," he said, "so what are we gonna do?"

"I don't know. I don't have any idea coming up right now. We only got barely a month to retrieve them," I sighed. "Give me a sec."

I had to come up with a plan. Any plan would suffice. Getting back the diamonds seemed difficult in this state of affair. Triads huh? I thought I would not encounter them for the last time. Bad news all around. I should wait for details from Rafe before we tackle this or else, we would be dead on arrival.

"Do you at least know someone before you traded your diamonds?" I inquired Rafe.

"Yeah," he sharply responded, "Li Song's the name."

"Okay. This is the first step."

"What are you planning?"

"I don't know yet," I answered.

"Okay, okay," he said, "I'll try making use of myself. If one of your plans need a crew, I know some people. I don't know if they're reliable, though."

"I'll keep that in mind. Okay, what I'm thinking right now is that you and I will have to ask this Li guy for info."

"He's not hard to find," Rafe pointed out.

"A specific place."

"Well, it's in Chinatown," Rafe affirmed.

"Okay, if we have the info from him then we will scout the place where they stash it. See any openings, areas to intrude, and canvas any equipment needed."

"Alright, I heard you," he beat, "you know I've been thinking, why didn't they get the diamonds from us a three years earlier?"

"I don't know. Say, what about Frank?"

"What about him?"

"You know his exact place?"

"I already told you. Destination unknown."

I sighed in frustration. "We have a lot to cover, yeah?"

"'Fraid so," Rafe agreed.

I had everything under control. Now, worrying stopped consuming me thereafter. The downpour deepened as Rafe and I agreed and planned on our next course before going to San Fierro. A flash blinked into the room and a lightning crashed down into the wilderness behind us. The room brightened in luminescence and morale. The environment began drying up and then, going back to loud silence. Rafe looked over the window and sat down on the bed beside me; slightly perpendicular to my side, not facing.

He glanced sideways at the bandages. "Bullet wound?"

"Just a scratch," I replied, wryly.

He patted his thighs with his hands and remarked, "Trouble seems to find you at every turn, Matthew. I don't know how or why."

I simply answered in a soft sigh.

"How many guys have you killed for the last…" he said, counting quietly with his fingers. "Five or four days?"

"I don't know. Ten? Or twenty?" I remarked hesitatingly.

"I see. I see," he muttered.

"When will we go to SF?"

"Soon after the rain stops," he responded.

Passing time meant we had to trudge along discussions that we had hoped to be long forgotten in the first place. In the end, waiting for the rain to stop was like queuing on a DMV – long, tiring and frustrating. If we overcame nature then we would certainly lose. It might take minutes or hours for the heavy shower to dispel from Angel Pine.

Sure enough, a considerable time passed and nature's mild rage began to simmer down. With me packing up and exiting the motel prematurely, I looked at the titanic Mount Chiliad one last time before heading north to San Fierro. I would slightly miss this town, despite my brief stay. I stood outside the entrance of the motel waiting for Rafe, who went to the bathroom. After a minute or two passed, he showed up beside me.

"So Matt, are you ready for this?" he confidently queried.

I shrugged impulsively. "Well let's get started then."

"Follow me."

I followed Rafe to this car with my items on hand. I saw five cars in front of us, from front to the back: A Washington sedan, a purple Sabre muscle car, a Uranus and two Journey motorhomes.

"That car there, yours?" I pointed my finger at the Uranus as we drew closer to it.

He smiled in self-satisfaction and said, "Why? Isn't she a beaut?"

"I'm not complaining or anything but it is not a bad car."

"I know. Got it for a three thousand bucks. Great deal," he said.

"I see."

Rafe brandished a remote key from his coat and the car produced two sharp beeps. We opened the doors in unison and entered the vehicle. Rafe switched to his keys with a sleight of hand and thrusted it inside the ignition. In one turn, the car rocked and quickly roared. The radio blasted classic rock music and the air-conditioning let out a sudden gust of cold wind onto my face. Rafe adjusted his seat to a more suitable posture as he cranked the lever in a different transmission.

"San Fierro. We'll take the scenic route," Rafe announced.

### Chapter 12: Worst Possible Moment

The sun hid behind the dark grey clouds, purple and orange bands coalescing from the emerging dusk. The calm yet restless wine-dark ocean beside me swept the cliffs below as we passed along the highway that hugged the foot of the mountain. It was a smooth ride. Inside the car, the radio kept us sane. I became mystified, still thinking of all the worst possible moments that I might be facing next. I entered a tunnel vision – only seeing what was ahead of me without noticing the details. Much like that, the droning of cars zipping by us turned silent during the daze. With my head resting on my arm against the window, I-

"Hey man, you okay?" Rafe worried, shifting his view from me to the road.

"Y-yeah I'm good. Just thinking about something," I stuttered.

Rafe adjusted the wheel and changed gears. "Thinking about what?"

"You know. About this. About Sonny."

"Oh yeah, how's Sonny?"

"Hasn't changed a bit. Still the same old bald bastard like he is."

"Isn't he fat?"

"Lost fifteen pounds. Probably from all that diet he's having."

"Smoking is not a diet."

I shrugged. "I don't know man," I said, "what I'm saying is that he's not that fat at all. Kinda average."

Rafe snickered, "You still don't know how he actually looks like ain't it?"

"You know I can't describe faces."

"Yeah I know. It's a challenge. What's Sonny look like?"

"Well…" I hesitated and thought.

"Give me some answers," he dared, hand twirling.

"Forty-six… white…"

"Of course he is, why'd y—"

I huffed, "Shut up and let me continue! Green eyes and a small scar down his lip."

Rafe looked at me briefly and shrugged. "You got some of it right."

"Why don't you take a gander at it then?" I challenged.

"Okay," Rafe responded, "he's an idiot, that's for sure. That bald prick still owes me a thousand bucks. And oh, he lost a tip of one of his fingers but I don't know if he still blames me for that."

"What happened?"

"Some robbery went wrong. There's this pawnshop in Vice we staked out and during the job, my gun misfired and hit his finger. I don't know which one. Got about twenty thousand though."

"Oh yeah. I remember now."

"And stop tapping your fingers on the dashboard. It's annoying as fuck," he complained. I stop drumming on the dashboard and tapped my thighs.

Rafe asked, "How are you doing anyway?"

"I'm retired, supposedly. Shit's ridiculous."

"I mean, before this broke out," Rafe gestured.

I let out a lisp from my lips and enumerated, "Sitting in my apartment. Doing a couple of favors with my friends in LS. Odd jobs for Sonny. I think that's about it."

"Do you think our old friend Tommy V. had a hand with this problem of yours?"

"I don't know. He seemed to be friendly since we last saw him."

He simply nodded and took a slight turn of the wheel, roaring past a slow-moving sedan in front, overtaking him. The engine thrummed back to normal mode. Puddles from the previous outpour splashed outside the car.

We were still on the highway doing sixty miles an hour; a few ways to go before San Fierro city limits. Rain droplets snuggled comfortably against the window, resisting the strong draft pummeling the vehicle. Tunnel lights formed yellow-orange orbs as the car echoed fast. In a short time, we were now back in the naked drizzled tarmac. The radio continuously played music as we continued our catch-up again.

"Where did you live in San Fierro anyway?" I asked.

"Palisades. Small house. Good enough for me," he said, "I know how to pick a place."

Rafe led a better life than I am. Living in Los Santos was presumably a bad idea to begin with but at least I had someone to go. Going to Fierro might be another fresh start in my life or probably a continuation of my misery.

"Ah finally, city limits," he looked over the overhanging highway sign, now behind us.

We drove over this red steel truss bridge. As we drew near, the volume of traffic got increasingly massive and horns of distinct pitches blared loudly ahead. Rafe slowed down as all the other vehicles in front of us began to sluggishly marched along the highway. I observed a hill gradually emerging beside us, with its large, towering antennae sitting on the pinnacle poking out from the mist.

"That's Missionary Hill. Nothing unusual," Rafe remarked. We came to a halt, boxed in by traffic.

"It's already fifteen minutes 'til six. We have time to go to my usual drinking hole," he uttered. The car sluggishly crawled onto the curve toward the intersection.

"The Deer?"

"Exactly," we advanced out onto an intersection — now at a crossroad.

Across the road was another road going right toward the hill. Across to the left was a large 'classic' manor eight stories tall, fenced by wire mesh. Ahead from afar was a wide tunnel divided by what seemed to be thin spaced dividers in the middle. Atop of it was a hill descending toward the building and connecting Missionary Hill. The lights turned green and we went left toward some rowhouses north, passing by the manor. Ocean Flats – as the sign implied sticking out of the sidewalk edge.

"Look, if you want to talk further about your problems, we'll talk it out at The Deer. Besides, we're already near it," Rafe noted.

"Okay fine," We let the radio dictate the mood as we approach Queens, to Rafe's hangout.

It would be swell to talk a bit but we had to lock our thoughts to ourselves to get a clearer view of what we would want to say. With Rafe concentrating on the wheel and me surveying the land like a sightseer, it was ideal to let ourselves continue our conversation at The Deer.

The Deer Pub and Bistro.

Such a respectable place. It beat the hell out of staying in the countryside, though. A barbershop and a grocery store sandwiched the bistro. Nearby was a disco hall and a hotel multi-story parking lot on the back. The bistro sat right near a sloping street toward SF City Hall. The place was crawling with colorful hippies and gay people – unheard of anywhere; holding hands unashamed. I heard a lot of this place as a hotspot for their community. Ain't a bad place, too. Rainbow flags hanging from the signposts and evergreens dressed the gentle streets. Lampposts emitted a pinkish glow. Despite the coldness of the season, it felt warm sitting in this place.

Rowdy drunkards, casual drinkers, and diners crowded much of the space in the bar. It itself was no ordinary; a contrast from the pink environment, the bar let out a brownish faded glow coming from its wall-mounted lights. The seemingly mysterious radiance encroached the sidewalk from where we sat. Despite the uncontained chatter from the inside, we hoped to have a little chat with Rafe here outside with clear distinct. With its open façade, the bar and street noises blended into an urban melody. Even then, way peculiar compared to Los Santos. Lively, no doubt.

We picked our meal for tonight. I ordered pork tenderloin and mushroom soup and Rafe had roast chicken with lentils. For a beverage, I only asked for water while he wanted a beer instead. Two in fact. The food barring the drinks might be done and served in fifteen minutes but we could wait.

"About those diamonds," Rafe began. His fingers tapped the wooden surface of the table.

"Yes, about that. I'll reiterate clearly. First, find Li Song, who I think is our lead."

Rafe nodded in agreement. "The last time I met him was at Pier 69, northeast of here. A real meet cute but I know someone who's close to Song."

A waiter walked toward our table and placed napkins and utensils on the table. I continued, "Who might that be?"

"Troy Palmer. Works at a clothing shop downtown. He knows the Triads like the back of a hand."

"Okay. Keep me posted on the contact."

"Look, if we're having issues in getting diamonds back, I know a couple of people who might help us out."

"Go on."

"There's this guy, Rich Panton. Works at the Doherty gas station. There's also this gal, Candy, who works at Big Spread Ranch in Venturas before. She's freelancing at Battery Point now. Add Mike Swift as well. A friend of mine back in Carcer."

I quizzed Rafe, "Where'd you know these people?"

"Got connections here and there. I never stopped working after I jumped ship from Vice." He sipped on his cold glass of water.

I rubbed the bridge of my nose with my fingers and sighed. "We don't talk about that job we did in Vice, okay? What we did was wrong."

"So what if we killed a Forelli spy? We're just following orders."

"He was a high ranking Forelli member. I know that guy."

"Look, he's dead and we're alive. If you continue talking on this matter, I won't help you in your… shitty-ass situation," he warned me, almost dismissively, "what if Song doesn't have an info?"

"Then, we'll have a bigger problem. Let's hope he isn't that of a liability."

"Alright. Remember, the diamonds are in this small red pouch. You won't miss it."

"It's probably stashed inside a briefcase for all I know," I suggested.

"We never know. After this, we head to my place. Then, we'll contact Troy for Song and maybe Candy, Rich, or Mike tomorrow."

"It's fine. This depends on the situation we'd look into."

"If we're going to do a stealthy one, we have to have equipment."

"Equipment will come by later."

"Okay, okay."

Our food arrived in time. The waiter brought the dishes on the span of his arm, placing the dishes onto the thick wooden dining table.

"Here's the pork tenderloin." He placed the dish next to me, "and the roast chicken with vinaigrette," ditto on Rafe's side.

"Anything you'd like to add?" the waiter asked.

"It's good. We'll call you if we need something," I answered.

"Okay," he smiled and said, "enjoy your meal."

The pork tenderloin looked absolutely superb on the chestnut oval porcelain plate. Meaty mushrooms, chopped walnuts, shallot, and chives seasoned the juicy pan-roasted meats, letting out hot aromatic steam over my nose. Golden-brown to perfection, cooked medium rare. The boneless core was all pink, lean and moist. The roast chicken, on the other hand, was a delight to see. Chopped basil, lentils, and walnut sprinkled the golden-brown chicken. Savoury and thick red wine sauce glazed the meat, viscously sliding down the sizzling cast-iron skillet. Oregano leaves sat on the sides, releasing a distinct herby odor that overwhelmed the seasoning. The chicken was cut into two, presumably for better serving.

"Now this is perfection," Rafe bragged.

Even though I wanted to snap back, I suddenly got hungry from the presentation and smell of my dish. I was overwhelmed by its tempting fragrance and texture. Its richness and savory goodness oozed out of the plate. My mouth began to water. Without hesitation, I chowed down my pork tenderloin.

No conversation travelled between us for awhile, with only the raucousness of our surroundings powering the noise. We conceded to the hunger consuming us as we did not talk until mid-meal.

"This is good, Rafe," I complimented him, grabbing a handful of tasty tenderloin.

"Heh. Like what I said, I know how to pick a place." He grabbed a napkin and wiped a smudge beside his mouth.

"San Fierro's probably not bad. There's that bluish feeling that I can't describe. I don't know what."

"Wait 'til you drive 'round the area," he joked.

"I lived on a hill in Los Santos. Can't be that bad driving 'round here."

"We'll see."

"I drove in Liberty and Vice. Also, in Stockton and in your hometown. It won't be a problem."

He repeated with a lowly laugh, "We'll see."

For ten minutes more, we devoured our main course. Rafe's order of two beers then arrived. Tall glass mugs brimmed with frothy brew. I declined his offer to split the other one, simply opted for my pity water drink.

"A toast to our future endeavors?" Rafe offered, glass raised.

"Sure, why not," I let out a hearty smile and clinked our mugs. Some of it spilled on the dirty table. We set the empty dishes aside and reminisced our past.

Some say it was distressing to remind yourself of the past. But, it could enlighten you things you often forget. For me, that was Vice City. The place reeked with betrayals and fake opportunities. We escaped there, barely. Sonny and I had a fair share of problems in that town. But we would be dead if it weren't for Vercetti, the Cubans, and Love. The diamonds. The memories. They haunted me. After all, only the worst possible moments came out of my life unscathed.

### Chapter 13: None or All of the Above

San Fierro was much somber than Los Santos, with a hint of subtlety and orderliness as well if not more. Based on first observation, the city looked like a countryside disguised as a city. Taking a walk would feel like an exercise since almost the entire city from what I see was extremely uphill. Though with cooler air and lesser humidity, maybe a light stretch or two here would be beneficial to one's health. Not so much for vehicles judging from the revving of Rafe's car every time it went past a gentle slope.

It was already eight o'clock in the evening. We were out of the pub for quite some time and now heading to the residence. We drove by Juniper Hill past a supermarket going west, where there was not much traffic as what Rafe told me. The progress went smoothly and I felt like we were getting close to our destination. Outside, the cityscape looked subdued as a bluish tint shroud the background. Everyone looked lifeless as well as if they did not have time to socialize with each other; going about their business. The raucousness of car horns and background discourses were almost absent as well. A drastic change of scene from Queens.

We exited the Hill not too soon and proceeded to an intersection where I could barely see a shoreline. We turned left to a winding road going to a residential area where trees dominate the view. These rows of beautifully constructed two-storey houses, each differ in style and between two meters apart, occupied the left view. The right side of the street were those aforementioned trees. As we drove closer, I could see trails and people in exercise-wear frolicking around.

"We're near," Rafe declared.

"Somewhere between those houses right?" I pointed at the houses low.

"Yep."

"From the look of those houses, they ain't cheap. How much did it cost?"

He gestured his hand in a so-and-so motion. "Maybe a quarter mil."

"Is this why you sold those diamonds then?"

"I have enough money to cover expenses after I bought this place before I gave those rocks away," he clarified.

"Why did you sell those diamonds?"

"I need money."

"Why couldn't you find a job? Even a small paying one like dock work or grocery bagger?"

"Do I look like a bagger or a worker? Come on, I'm already forty-four and I'm too tired for any of that shit," he said, "do you think they won't snoop around? And what's with all these questions gumshoes?"

"I just want a good explanation but okay, fine. You greedy bastard," I conceded.

"Good, looks like we're here."

"Where?" I asked.

"See that white rowhouse? The one next to it is mine."

"I see," I let out.

Rafe's abode sat between a white rowhouse and a fenced-in blue abode. Open yard with a single parking area and a paved stoned walkway toward the entrance. The exterior looked typical to a San Fierro environment. Unremarkable. No roof visible, presumably hidden by a parapet. Two storey and not a lot to look into - minimalist design, finished in white with only two windows and the front door protruded out. The second floor jutted a bit slightly forward, acted like an eave for the ground floor and each window had what looked like concrete overhangs to protect them from rain. Overall, it looked inconspicuous as if an upstanding citizen lived here.

Rafe turned left as traffic cleared and proceeded to park the car. He pivoted in place for the final approach and parked. The car let out an uncomfortable whiplash inside and a sighing purr; Rafe turned the ignitions off. I unbuckled my seatbelt and got out of the vehicle.

Rafe informed me from the inside as he prepared himself inside the car, "I opened the trunk. Go get your things before we go inside. I have to find the house keys first."

"Yeah, sure," I said.

I looked around for a moment to see that visibility has gotten a bit murky, gone hazy. The lights from the road and the park across poked out albeit scattered and blurred. It seemed a thick mist rolled over us as soon as we got here. The bluish tint from before may have been its work. The soft crashing of ocean waves from the waterfront echoed through my ears and murmurs of background noise rang against the contradiction.

I promptly set my observations aside and went to collect my stuff in the trunk. I grabbed my holster with my pistol in it and slung it on my shoulder, and my sullied clothing as Rafe walked toward the front door. His keys rattled before the door opened welcomingly. Rafe went inside the darkness of his abode and I waited on the foot of the door for the light to embrace me in its homely hug.

Two flickers snapped in my eyes and everyone inside greeted me in clarity.

_This is Rafe's house huh? I expected more from him._

Everything is plain. There seemed to be living room furniture that looked like they were bought from KRAPEA and a dining room table bought from a junkyard. Nevertheless, it was tidy. Not a speck of trash found on the corners nor dust lying dormant on wooden mouldings lining the walls. A square room with the living room on the foreground and the entirety of the kitchen in the back. A corridor filled the left-most part of the view, guessing that the stairs and the bedroom went there.

Beside me where I am was a wooden dresser with notebooks and crumpled papers strewn at the top. An unlit vintage floor lamp and waist-high bookshelf with assorted knicks-knacks decorating the flat surface located next to it. The TV sat on the eastern face of the room with the grey three-seat sofa facing it and a chair on the side. Between it was a low glass coffee table in a wooden frame, magazines piled beneath the transparent glass.

The dining area with a four-seat dining table connected the kitchen and the living room in between. The kitchen spanned the back almost the length of the living room; the living room about the length of Rafe's car, same as the kitchen as well. The wooden counters looked like it had seen better days yet the marble top looked spotless. The refrigerator and the stove sat on the left corner of the kitchen area with two counters separating them. The sink and a window sat on the right corner with three counters separating from the nearest appliance, the stove. Other appliances such as his steel toaster and blender were located between them. Above were the cupboards of the same model, presumably of the same make.

Rafe was already by the kitchen as I entered the house. He opened one of the cupboards and grabbed something inside. A wine bottle and a glass. He poured one for himself as I closed the door and went to the sofa with my stuff.

"From the pub then back to a glass at home."

He chuckled and replied, "It's not enough celebration for our reunion." He leaned against the countertop edge next to the wine bottle. I dropped my holster and clothes next to me onto the sofa.

"So, what are we going to do tomorrow?" Rafe inquired.

"Like we agreed upon, find this Troy Palmer guy. Then Li Song, then the whereabouts. If things might get dicey, we'll find those people who might help us."

"We'll drop by his workplace tomorrow in Downtown."

"Right but first, we have to buy a burner phone for you so that we can call each other with this phone." I patted the pocket where the phone was.

"Oh okay." He then took a sip from the glass and said, "there's no need to buy one, I already have an unused spare."

"Are you okay to throw it away when things go a bit… you know?"

He took a large sip. "Sure. Why the hell not?"

Then, he glared brutally at me and approached me. Instead, he went right past me and went for the door. He turned the lock and said, "Jesus Christ Matt, lock the damn door."

"Sorry," I apologized as he went back to the kitchen and resumed drinking wine.

"What time is it?" He pointed the top of his wrist at me.

I glanced at my wristwatch and said, "Eight fifty."

"Can you turn the T.V. on? I wanna see what's on."

I grabbed the remote control on the coffee table and turned on the television. The first thing that popped up from the black screen were dialogues between characters. The volume was a bit too loud, almost drowning the room in it but not enough to be heard outside.

Rafe asked me to turn the volume down a bit and I gladly obliged. He further instructed through his gestures to change the channel to his liking. The news came up next but the same gestures instructed me so I moved on to the next one. Channel after channel he could not come up with a final decision. A late night show appeared on the screen and then he stopped motioning me to skip it.

"Much better," He sighed in relief as he drank another glass of wine.

"Say, didn't you see more on the news?"

"No and I don't know. It's barely the details but I know it's you."

"Figures," I muttered low.

Our conversation ended after that. We focused on watching the television. My eyes shifted its gaze from the television to the VCR to check the time while Rafe drifted away from the talk show noise. Some time and three ad breaks elapsed, he joined me in the living room and sat on the chair next to me without the glass of wine in hand. I looked at the kitchen where the bottle and the half-filled glass sat aloof on the countertop.

While another ad break went on, I broke the still inexpressive silence that permeated our space.

I remarked to Rafe, "By the way, nice place you got here, I expect more from you. You know, something lavish, luxurious… something that defines you."

"Yeah well, I'd like to live frugally more."

"The house cost more than the total cost of everything here."

"Ha! The bookshelf right there, bought it for seventy-five bucks. The bed upstairs for a buck hundred. Incognito. Gone were the days of Vice City."

I snickered and said, "Do you remember the red Infernus?"

He looked annoyed and said, "Just shut up about it. That car must've been in scraps by now."

The conversation stopped as the ad break finished its run. The talk show went on uninterrupted. Some couple of smiles and laughs let out for a while until the mindless drivel finally passed. I looked at the VCR and the time said it was ten fourteen, close to dead of night.

"Do you still want to watch?" Rafe asked.

I had enough nonsensical entertainment for one day. I let Rafe know by nodding my head with a resounding "no". Rafe took the remote and shut the television off. He stood up and walked to the corridor. I leaned my head sideways to get a good look as Rafe stopped on the first steps and said to me, "Well if you're feeling hungry, there's food in the fridge."

He pointed at the door close to the stairs. "If you want to take a piss or something, the bathroom's right here and I'll be going to bed. You can sleep on the couch," he then walked out of my sight as his voice bellowed, "good night, Matt. Don't forget to turn off the lights."

A light shone from the staircase then it dissolved in the creeping darkness. I transferred my used clothing to the chair where Rafe sat and stood up, walking toward the kitchen window. I leaned on the countertop within arms apart supporting me and looked outside. All I could see is the white fog encompassing the distance ahead. I immediately turned around and lay on the couch, wondering.

The plans for tomorrow hang on to this Palmer guy. If we could get through this, then more options would open up for us to pick. And I would make sure it stays that way; none or all of the above, I might say. Fate rested on his unaware hands.

Three days had passed since I was dumped in the middle of nowhere. Time marched forward with each passing second and I would not let it go to waste. With Rafe's help, I could delay a few precious seconds but that would not be enough. We had to act fast and play the game as intended.

Last time I checked it was eleven fourty-four, almost noon. The night fog disappeared without saying a formal goodbye and the San Fierro overcast skies welcomed the new dawn. Foreboding filled the air and the ocean waves behind the home crashed with clamor as we prepared for the day.

I went outside to wait for Rafe as soon as he prepared for the meetup with Troy Palmer. He lent me his grey overcoat to hide the holster I am wearing, as well as the blue loose jeans and everything else. I had not had breakfast yet since Rafe insisted on going to a drive through. I mean, it was faster that way if we were on a busy schedule. Nevertheless, I could resist the hunger for awhile.

I surveyed the scenery so busily that Rafe already exited the house until he called my name.

"So, ready Matt?"

"Yeah. Did you bring the spare phone?"

He presented the phone to me at a distance. "Didn't forget it. Come on, let's go. We're burning daylight."

We got into the car and bolted out going to downtown San Fierro, to Troy Palmer's workplace.

The warm sunshine enveloped the car, radiating within to a humid scene. Though, the cooler climate blew out much of the residual heat. Silhouette of vegetation and urban jungle hid us from the fury of the sun. We climbed up hilly parts of the city and back onto level ground. We went by without much hassle from district to district. Mid-level apartments and mom-and-pop stores slipped by us as we reached downtown limits. We were brought to a standstill as the traffic got worse as we went further inside downtown. A tram service full of locals skittered between the traffic with a distinct electrifying grind. We soldiered through the rote by small talk here and there just to get our mind away from the relentless traffic.

Eventually, we approached a black office tower with a long antenna where Rafe spotted a fastfood place — Burger Shot.

"Burger Shot?"

"It's the only restaurant near and it's best we should get something that'd be done in a minute. So what do you want? I'll go in."

"A Bleeder burger will do."

"Alright." Rafe drove right close to the sidewalk across the place and stopped.

He got out of the car and walked into the restaurant. I looked out of the window to alleviate my boredom. Only the fleeting motion of vehicles whizzing by and background chatter entertained me. I flicked my fingers in boredom until I heard a knock behind me. I glanced the side mirror and a police officer snuck into view.

I jumped, worried that the police might notice and identify me. I slouched in my seat furtively and put my arms out to pantomime directions out of the window.

"Sir, are you going to park here? 'Cause this is a no parking zone," he bellowed, pointing a police bat.

I let my hands dictate and explained, "Uh...uh, my friend is just going to buy something from that place over here and-"

"Sorry! Sorry officer!" Rafe swooped in, interjected with heavy panting, "I was buying food for my friend here."

"You should move before I'll slap a ticket!" the officer warned, police bat aimed at Rafe.

Rafe threw a paper bag full of food at my lap. He politely apologized to the officer as he got in the car. He shifted gears and drove off as the officer behind us looked away.

"What the hell are you thinking? You almost got us in trouble."

"I did not know I parked in a no parking zone! There's no sign. Blame the city for that."

"You should consider that next time when we're going somewhere."

"Yeah yeah yeah. Next time," Rafe defused.

I slinked up the seat and looked in relief as we barely got out of that officer's attention. Rafe drove us to a marked parking space a block from the restaurant to eat our brunch. The car stood static as we rummaged through the paper bag.

"Here. I think this is... yours?" I examined a burger much larger than a Bleeder.

"Yeah, it's mine. Give it." I threw his burger at him. He caught it perfectly.

I lifted my warm burger out and crushed the paper bag into a big rugged ball with my hand, threw the crumple down my feet.

"Where did you know this Troy Palmer?" I asked as I took a big bite of my burger.

"When I escaped Vice City much earlier than you guys, I arrived here with no one to go to. Maybe a few acquaintances here and there. I worked with quite a few in turn, they would do something for me in favors. Eventually, I met Troy Palmer from an acquaintance during a delivery job on behalf of the Triads. He promised he'd hook me up with the Triads but he said that they want something from me as an insurance." He opened his burger and took a bite.

"You're planning to betray the Triads by stealing the diamonds back?"

"Unless we get caught. You're in deep shit since they got Sonny. I didn't expect this would happen until you called me so my hands are tied too. I can't see a way out of this," his words were barely heard from the chewing.

"If this goes smoothly, you'll be out of the bind."

"Hey, we're old friends and you needed some help. Plus, the delivery job routine kinda bores me if I'm being honest."

"Yesterday, you complained about your involvement in this."

"Eh, too late now. Let's finish this food and get it over with."

We finished the burger together minutes after Rafe assured me of the situation. Rafe crumpled the burger paper, turned the wheel and pumped the gas pedal. We sped on until we arrived at our destination.

We stopped a street away from the clothing shop and I looked on ahead to locate the shop.

"Victim? I didn't know he's high class."

"He may be high class alright but he's a perverted pig. Trust me on this one."

"Alright. Whatever you say, Rafe."

Rafe turned the keys off and we got out of the vehicle synchronously, readied to go and meet Palmer.

"Are you ready?" Rafe asked. I simply nodded my head and we were off.

"You go inside first. Act like you're looking for something. I'll go right after. I'll talk to the attendant. If he's there, I'll persuade Troy to talk some things outside while you follow us from the back."

"Okay I got you."

"If Troy tries to escape. Block him."

I let out an approving "Hm."

We stopped at the crossing lane along a crowd, waiting for the vehicular commotion to open us the path. Eventually, the crossing light turned green and we crossed toward the clothing shop. The shop situated on a corner lot of the busy district, neighboring a hotel with valet service across the road. The shop occupied the corner of a modernistic style office building, facing the streets.

Rafe slowed down as I motioned toward the entrance. I jostled a few people as I entered the shop but that did not matter. Inside were an assortment of denim and high-priced clothing stored in shelves and hung on walls. White drab with big blood drop decals spotting some areas plastered the walls. A mezzanine split the interior; a steel stair by the right side of the room with exposed rises. There was a step down going to the cashier area; half a meter from ground level. The attendant, female, stood behind the white counter in the middle of the room with a divider with a large 'VICTIM' brand on it. The mezzanine was supported by a wooden deck, the exposed red steel beams supported underneath. Shoppers of varying age and ethnicity roamed about, trying on clothes near the stands; some window shopping and a handful of bored men sitting down on the shop furniture while their loved ones continued on their fun.

I went down where the attendant stood by and went to some shelves a bin away, acting to check out some snazzy pair of shirts. A couple of potential buyers went in, including Rafe, walled by the crowd. I glanced sideways over my shoulder and saw Rafe approaching the attendant. I strained my ears to eavesdrop their conversation despite the incoherent babblings around me.

"Karen! What's up? How you doin'?"

"Oh hey, Rafe. I'm doing fine as usual, dealing retail," she beamed. A blonde, from the look of it, in her mid-twenties. Her hair on pigtails. She wore the store uniform: black fitting shirt with the Victim logo emblazoned on the left breast, white undershirt, navy jeans and black sneakers.

"How's your pet cat?"

"Skittles just got out of the vet, thank God."

"Oh, that's good. By the way, have you seen Troy? Is he here?"

"My manager hasn't been here since yesterday."

"Uh, do you know where he is?"

"Well... the other day... he said he's going out to Blueberry for a hobby of his—" Karen answered shyly.

"Wa—wa—wait a minute. I'm sorry... did you just say... Blueberry?" Rafe seethed in surprise.

### Chapter 14: The Countryside Blues

"God! Fucking! Dammit!" Rafe fumed. He pounded his fist on the counter in each pause.

"Th-that's what I know. Th-that's where Troy is. I'm sorry," she stuttered in fright. Her fixed smile replaced by shock.

Rafe rubbed the bridge of his nose and sighed irritatedly. Then, he apologized, "It's okay Karen. It's okay. You don't have any fault in any of this."

"Can you pinpoint where in Blueberry exactly?" Rafe further asked.

"He didn't give out any details."

Rafe sighed, exasperated. "Do you know at least some directions?"

At this point, their voices hid behind the unrecognizable cacophony. I saw some gestures and pointing until Rafe nodded at Karen then immediately departed. As he exited the shop, I swiftly followed. I looked among the passersby to find Rafe and there he stood on a corner beside a faux-Greek style concrete column right by the store entrance. I approached beside him.

"So, Blueberry huh?"

Rafe stuffed his hands in his blue overcoat front pockets. "Yep. And it's going to be a long drive."

Rafe stepped out of the corner and began to lead back to the car, and I promptly followed beside him.

"Yesterday in Whetstone, then today, Red County. Ah, what a fucking day." Rafe complained to himself, hand rubbing his irked face.

"How do we go there exactly?"

"The attendant—"

"Karen," I interjected.

"Right, Karen. She— she told me some directions," he said, "we'll be going to Red County. Take the expressway, exit to the airport then to Easter Bay. It'll be just straight roads going there."

"I see."

"Out of all the places in San Fierro, it had to be Blueberry."

"I'm sure he had a reason to."

"I better hope he has a reasonable explanation after we find him." Rafe's eyes narrowed, fist shook.

We approached our car and got in as soon as we finished our talk. Rafe turned the ignition, pressed the accelerator and cruised off to join everybody else in the frantic Downtown jam. We moved along the crosstown traffic at a snail's pace and turned left along the tram rails. The car ascended a gentle slope and turned left again onto a wide avenue. The road stretched beyond the horizon where there was a gradual drop ahead. We moved straight on the avenue until we went past a bank tower and toward a car dealership building. At a distance, another gentle downhill and I could see a large structure with a curved glass roof and its driveway on the left and a construction site on the right. Rafe then turned left to the road on the corner of the car dealership then into a downhill tunnel. Traffic was minimal inside so passing inside went immediate. We stopped at the traffic signal on the end of the tunnel where this black tall tower had greeted us again, this time, its other face. The right side of us was the elevated expressway, about seven stories high, and the onramps. A seaport and a large concrete block with no windows, fenced in, poked out below the expressway.

Past a minute and we continued on toward the expressway; we turned right and then right again, ascending on the onramp to join the roaring cavalcade above. The vehicle struggled for a bit in climbing the incline and now, we sped among the freight trucks, family cars and vans.

"After we left Florida, what were you doing after?" Rafe suddenly asked.

"I told you, I retired," I reiterated.

"Yeah, yeah. But, what did you do after?"

"I already told you that."

"I asked specifically," Rafe needled.

"Ah, doing chores with Sonny," I claimed.

"Hm? What do you mean by _chores_?" Rafe queried.

"Some courier work, doing books and protecting some clientele."

"So what you're saying is that you're doing rackets?"

I looked away and hesitated, "I mean, if you say it that way—"

Rafe interrupted, "That's not exactly what I call a quiet retirement, you know."

"Well, it's better than smuggling and working for organizations, that's for sure. We're making sure that we're doing it lowkey," Rafe said, "do you think there's a chance that you've set this off from one of your little jobs in LS?"

"Not really, I'm sure of it. Our services only extend uptown and our regulars are not exactly the kind that have any expendable income to throw men to some criminals for hire."

"'Cause, we've pissed off so many heads in Florida, there's no discernible knowledge as to who might have done this. Plus, we have to save Sonny's ass once again and yours from this nonsense," Rafe yapped.

"I-I think it's one of those nameless men we killed in the diamond deal in Viceport. Probably one of them is a brother or a relative of a high-ranking cartel member or something."

Rafe raised his eyebrows and said, "Why though? Why would you put your family member on some lowly job only to die?"

"We all have to start somewhere."

"I don't believe that. Most revenge stories tend to be one-man army, not some bunch of buffoons die trying to get one," Rafe disputed the notion of the idea.

"You don't watch a lot of movies don't you?"

"It doesn't really matter," Rafe deadpanned.

After passing a highway interchange, we saw the highway off-ramp going to the airport about a hundred meters ahead. A few grounds gained later, we descended down. We hit ground level and turned left toward the airport. We headed toward an intersection and observed a road ahead going to the left and into a tunnel. The tunnel had dug itself into a steep cliff that had a high drop to the ocean. Close to the left road and straight ahead of us was the airport main entrance along with its enormous welcoming billboard overlooking the road. A see-through opened the top-half, where the blue sky passed through. The flat drawing of the bay of San Fierro made the background of the lower half with the Gant Bridge spanning the equator. A model of a bomber plane hovered the center of the billboard, passing halfway through the signage. The main terminal could not be seen from our point of view since the road descended further, curved slightly to the left. A three meter high steel meshed fence surrounded the perimeter of the airport tarmac and the main road ran through the front, dividing the area to two. Stationary aircraft parked in the area to the left and fuel tanks jutted out of the fence to the right. A bridge where aircraft could presumably cross could be seen slightly.

We crossed the intersection and turned right toward the cliff tunnel. We got into its entrance and found ourselves situated to a steady yet slow line of vehicles that stretched inside; a worn out trailer truck in front of us and a yellow taxi cab with a passenger inside at the back sandwiching us.

A slight progressing, almost rhythmic, flux dictated the lane until we came to another stagnation. The line went inert while the oncoming lane moved along swimmingly. I looked at my wristwatch to check on our journey time.

It said two-ten in the afternoon.

We had been travelling for almost two hours now since Palisades. Rafe dipped his head on the wheel in exasperation. I soon grew bored and drowsy. I propped my head on the side of the window and spaced out. My lonesome vista in this entirety were the concrete tunnel walls and the ass of a truck.

Twenty minutes had passed and we had not gotten to the middle of this tunnel, wherever it might be. A few advances here and there yet it felt like forever. My drowsiness overcame my boredom and I hoped to have a quick shuteye.

At this point, Rafe had its unmoving eyes on the road. I felt it would be quite unfair to doze off when he had to suffer this tedious spiel. No matter, I had gotten to a point where my eyelids weighed like an anvil so I had no other choice.

I felt a shaking motion to my right so I opened my weary eyes to see the fuss.

I lifted myself up and asked in a yawning tone, "Oh, are we finally there?"

"We're close," he said, eyes unbroken on the road.

We strolled through a forest where the tall pinewood trees swayed gaily along the fresh rural breeze. Painted shadows covered the gentle asphalt and the diffused afternoon light seeped in through the canopy. We drove toward a hairpin turn and it was literally all downhill from here. Another wide turn and we arrived now at sea level, zipping by a calm shoreline on our left. I looked up to see the sky presenting a visible moon and wisps of clouds scattered around the azure horizon.

"Just a few turns away from Blueberry," Rafe sighed in relief. His eyes widened and arms stretched from the wheel.

We approached an intersection; a path going to a bridge to the left, straight road ahead going somewhere and a farm field to the right.

"So this guy's in a farm town." I darted my eyes to Rafe.

Rafe shrugged. "Yeah, I don't know what he's doing here."

"She said something about hobbies right? I bet he's just fishing somewhere."

"Well, I hope he's only fishing and not doing something stupid."

We turned to our right where a factory with two long thin grey chimneys cornering a road split to the left could be seen ahead. We then drove left and into the town proper. We slowly drove around the Blueberry streets to look for Palmer among the passersby. Eventually, we parked on a pizza place parking lot and exited the car.

"We should split up and ask some locals here so we can cut some time," Rafe suggested as we got out of the vehicle.

"Do you have a picture of him so we can show something to them?"

Rafe paused for a bit and looked at me. "Uh… no."

"How do we find this guy then?"

"He's about six feet and an inch, same as my height." Rafe hovered his hand above his head and said, "brown hair and always wore a gold necklace. Oh, and he's a bit fat."

We walked away from the car and stopped an arm's length away. I coaxed, "You have to narrow it down."

"I'd say he looked like a bloating corpse."

"Weird description but what if he's wearing a hat?"

"Then find a way to make out of it. Brown hair. Gold necklace."

Rafe pointed at the direction left of me and said, "You go south of here and find him." He pointed behind. "and I'll go north."

"Okay. I'll call you when I see him," I affirmed.

He gave me a brief pat on the shoulder and walked away, "I'll keep an eye on it Matt."

We wandered off to our directions. I roamed around for any places of interest until I spotted a gas station across a truck terminal. Xoomer Gas - the signpost read, topping above it with a big X, almost a person tall. A station wagon and an open tractor parked in it refilling fuel. The drivers held the inserted gas pumps, looking disinterested. The gas station store stood lazily behind them. I saw the attendant sheepishly reading something across the view from the shop window. I traversed the street and entered the store. The attendant read a book, sitting and leaning against a wall shelf behind him. Shelves of snacks and accessories lined the inside in aisles.

I approached the attendant casually and asked, "Hey, I'm looking for a friend of mine. Brown hair. Gold necklace. About six feet."

He lowered down the book and looked at me with an emotionless face. He stared, "No, haven't seen him."

I answered in a dejected tone, "Oh okay. See you later then."

He dismissively waved his hand as if asking me to move along.

I went outside to ask the drivers by the gas pumps if they noticed the man we were looking but I only found nothing. One by the station wagon said he recently got out of Las Venturas and the tractor rider answered ambiguously, saying that half of the town are obese. In other words, locating Troy was like fishing for a guppy from a lake filled with salmon. I strolled around and asked passersby for more information but again, no useful responses. I went inside a liquor shop just five buildings away from the station and the same thing happened. Nada. As if he simply didn't exist. All ran out of potential respondents, I sat on a street bench to rest.

I pulled out my phone and called Rafe, "Well I tried."

"Scratch that. I found him. It's at an apartment complex near here."

I exploded out of the bench, "Where exactly?"

"Head back to the parking lot. You'll see it when you get there."

"Alright. See you in a bit." I ended the call then dashed to the pizza place.

As I got close, I could see the apartment complex Rafe mentioned barely sticking out behind the fastfood joint. I sauntered toward the complex and spanned the place to find my friend's whereabouts. There I had found Rafe between two cars east of the complex, crouching near a red muscle car with a vented hood and tinted windows. He bent down beside it, searching for something below its chassis.

"Found him yet?" I asked.

He turned around and said, "No. But I found his car. I'm sure 'cause his driving this, a Buffalo."

"Oh okay. What are you looking for?"

He then got up on his feet. "Oh, nothing. Come on, let's go. He's in there somewhere," he beckoned.

The apartment complex had four entrances - two eastern entrances from its corners and vice versa from the western side. We entered southeast and found ourselves on the courtyard with a big planter in the center. A double steel staircase situated itself on the western part of the complex. The western entrances flanked it from the side. Middle of the stairs at ground level was a green Sprunk vending machine. Six blocks made up the tight perimeter with shed roofs facing down the courtyard. One block consisted of two rooms, separated about a typical hallway apart. The blocks were all separate from each other by almost a hallway length and connecting them were the walkways from the second floor.

We wandered around to find some leads. Rafe knocked on a door from the second room northwest and I went on the opposite side. A resident greeted Rafe on his front door so I went to his location and joined the questioning. The resident, old and slightly hunched over, peered out the door and we went on to ask him questions.

"Have you seen this guy? He's a bit big, brown hair and always wearing a necklace," Rafe asked politely.

The elder responded, "Why? Why are you looking for him?"

"Well, we're friends of his and his family have been looking for him from LS. They were all worried."

"Please, it's very important."

The old man hesitated for a bit and opened the door. He exited with the door slightly ajar and looked at us. "I saw a guy that matches that description, but, I'm not really sure," the old man answered, stroking his chin, "gold necklace right?"

Rafe nodded in response.

"He's the only one with a golden necklace in here like you said. Not a lot of people in town wears that sort of thing," The resident said, stepped slightly toward the courtyard and directed at us where to go. He pointed his finger to the room above where we entered the complex and added, "see that over there? That's his place right there." We traced the direction to confirm.

"That? There?" I pointed as well.

The old man looked at me and said, "Yes. That's the one."

Rafe glanced at the place and gave thanks to the old man. The old man went back to his refuge as we proceeded to the stairs. We moved up the second floor and approached the doorstep of Troy's alleged location.

"Hello? Troy? Are you there?" Rafe knocked on the door lightly with each question. We waited, but no answer. He gave a concerning look at me and knocked again.

"Troy! Are you there?" This time, Rafe pounded heavily. No response. I set Rafe aside and jerked the knob violently. No success.

"Can you look for a window?" Rafe commanded.

I peeked at the corner and found nothing. I told him, "There's no window."

"Troy! I'm warning you, if you don't open this door then we'll bust it out for you!" Rafe hollered.

Still, silence. Rafe ordered me to break the door down. I twisted the handle one more time. No good. So, I stepped backwards, shoulders out to give force, and dashed straight to the door. A loud shatter boomed and the door gave way. I nearly staggered from the excess force but I regained myself. Rafe and I finally went in.

The room looked grim. Disarray and ruin overwhelmed the sight. We found Troy Palmer slumped dead on his chair, facing us. He wore a grey wife-beater and dark orange chinos, as well as shoeless. Speaking of which, his shoes found leaning beside the door frame, untouched and kept. A dried up puddle of blood streaked below the chair. No splatter. It looked like a professional job. It was a surprise his neighbor didn't notice a dead body lying around. A table stood behind the corpse and a solitary window curtained by plastic blinds. Sunlight leaked out from the slats, shining death with utter disgust.

"Jesus Christ, what happened here," Rafe blurted.

"Somebody got to him first," I quipped.

We approached the body with extreme caution. The tiny room was about two meters wide and in length. Most of the space filled the right side of the room. The body propped at the middle end of the room. The kitchen corner was right by the entrance. Unclean dishes and some clean cups spread the counters. He looked like he was living remotely. No refrigerators, blenders or stoves; only a microwave and nothing else. The counters looked glossy and fragments of what looked like black pellets, dust and crumbs sprinkled the top. The kitchen was designed like an L and right after the counter corner was a small table with a small portable T.V. and towers of magazines on top. The magazines stacked high next to the television, almost as tall as well. A lounge chair and footrest faced the television at a diagonal. The blood and debris that gathered from our arrival stained the wooden floor deck.

A vomit-inducing smell overwhelmed our senses. I felt like a headache was coming just seconds from entering. Rafe attempted to fan out the air but to no avail and then took a handkerchief out of his pockets. He covered his face with it as we got close to the body. I tried to lift the collar of my shirt and use it in lieu of a handkerchief but it was futile. Instead, I used my mouth to breathe.

Rafe reached out his hand to examine the corpse. I swiped his arm away and demanded, "Stop! Don't touch him."

"You should've thought of that when you touched the doorknob," he answered back in a muffled voice.

I shook my head down and said, "We should've bought some gloves."

I circled around the corpse to probe. The body looked pale, going rigor mortis. His head slumped sideways to his right shoulder. His left arm hung down and his right hand rested on his belly. His terrified face froze in place, mouth gaped. The bullet entered the right eye cleanly. Now, deepened with deep crimson. His other glossy, half-open eye stared beyond the deathly void. A rust-colored trail flowed out of the wound and stained the colored shirt in flushed red.

"A clean shot to the eye. Do you think the Triads did this?" I remarked as I turned my head to see Rafe strolling his eyes from where he stood.

He looked at me and answered, "Who knows."

"We need to find what we need here fast. I feel like I'm gonna vomit," Rafe ordered in a hurried tone.

I went toward the table with the TV and magazines while Rafe explored the contents of the table behind the motionless body. The magazine spines entered in my sight. I peeked and squinted my eyes at the miniscule fonts. As I got close, I read the print.

El Burro's Animal Trainer. The magazines were labelled in volumes, from one to sixty-seven. Volumes twenty-one, thirty-three, thirty-four and sixty were missing. Some had rips and tears, revealing the white pulp underneath. I took a magazine from the top of the pile to see more details.

.

..

...

And I could not believe my eyes. Animal porn. Too graphic to detail here so it was up to imagination to fill the rest of the details here instead.

"Rafe, you always seem to understate what you said," I said, flipping through the pages.

"What about it?" his muffled voice answered, along with rummaging noises.

"Well, you gotta see this shit."

Rafe approached at my side. As I stopped flipping the pages and showed the magazine to him, it randomly landed on a two-page spread with two pigs, two nude middle-aged men and a woman doing… something.

"God. What a sick bastard," Rafe cursed after a moment of silence, from disgust and utter shock.

He walked away and I put the magazine back before the countryside blues get to me. I looked down to see some three boxes underneath the table. Hopefully not another depraved trash.

I bent down and moved the leftmost box to me. I opened it up to see some junk and old notebooks. I combed through the junk and took out a notebook with a brown paper cover. I skimmed off some pages to see numbers and words; contact numbers, addresses and list of persons, in fact. I scanned through the pages methodically but Li Song's name had not come up.

I put down the notebook right next to me and grabbed a green notebook below the pile. I did the same as before but, nada.

"Have you found anything?" Rafe prodded.

"I found some notebooks with names and addresses in it."

"Song?"

"No. You?"

"Financial records, written notes, random numbers and invoices. All from Victim clothing, though," he enumerated.

"We need to keep looking. Does he have a phone with him?"

"Nothing from my end. Maybe it's somewhere there on you."

"There's nothing here but God, I feel a bit dizzy here," I commented.

Notebook after notebook and yet, the search went fruitless. I burned through twelve notebooks before taking a brown notebook out of the box. I flipped through the pages and stopped as I noticed one of the pages were missing. Then, I put the notebook back into the box after scanning the rest of the notes. There were still about five or six notebooks buried beneath the junk so I continued on the search.

"Matt, come here and take a look at this," Rafe yelled across.

I got up as I heard the call. A loud bang quaked and the table jumped and I felt a staggering pain from the back of my head. My head hit the table box apron. I lifted my hand up to my head and suddenly, heavy motions scraped behind my back. The gradual weight pushed me down to the floor as I grabbed the table top with my open hand. I looked up to find the magazine tower gone. I rubbed my head to numb the pain. Rafe ran to me as I recover myself.

"You need to be careful," Rafe quipped, extending a hand to me.

I twisted my lips, deadpanned, "Gee thanks. I'll keep that in mind." I dismissed his attempt of help and stood up, slightly bending due to the back pain.

"Just trying to help, man."

"I know. I know," I said lowly as I regained composure.

The magazines splayed all over the floor. However, among the opened pages, I saw a piece of torn paper sticking out from the inner hinge. I stepped in close and bent over to collect it.

"What is it?" Rafe eyed.

I flipped the paper over and would you know it, a list. Not just an ordinary list; Li Song's name, phone number and address written all over it. The search was finally over.

"It, is it. Li Song," I remarked.

### Chapter 15: Running in Circles

Rafe fanned out his handkerchief against his hand, letting out a satisfying, if not rewarding, relief.

_Flip-flap-flip-flap-flip_

_Woooooo!_

The door sighed out a pathetic creak. Narrow opening poked out of it. The horrible sight inside now obscured by the closing. I leant on the railing across the room entrance, studying more on this Li Song guy, no matter how shallow the information was in the tiny piece of paper. His addresses were all jotted down on it.

_Chinatown. 23 Carlson Way._

_Juniper Hollow. 10 Juniper Street._

_Ocean Flats. 15 Argyle Drive._

The backpage had nothing written on it but scrawled imprints of the front. Rafe leaned beside me, back facing the courtyard.

"So, where to?" he asked, tainted handkerchief stuffed back in pocket.

"There's three addresses written here. All from Fierro. He could be anywhere from this list. Might as well start from the nearest," I answered.

"Can I look into it?" His hands begged, fingers moving toward itselves.

"Sure."

Rafe hummed and hawed. "Well… the Flats is the closest, we'll start there. Then to Chinatown, then to Hollow," he said, "there's phone numbers in here, why don't we call them?"

"Have you known this man after that meetup of yours?"

"No but we'll give it a try." He shrugged and said, "who knows? He might've known my voice."

"We ain't doing it," I refused, "we'll just look for this man and ask him all about it. No harm, no fuss."

"Whatever you say," Rafe conceded.

I got up from the railing and walked away. Rafe followed shortly. The footfalls beat the firm yet weary hardwood floors. Pastel sky chased away the late afternoon fall. The steel steps clanged upon our feet, plodding down to ground level. We marched on to our next objective back to the city as if we were running in circles by now. Twenty-seven days to twenty-four. Headstart from the countryside then to Fierro. Planned? I did not think as it is. The race for the diamonds had started since that night in Los Santos began.

We continued our conversation, sallying forth toward our ride.

"Ah Jesus. It's five o'clock already?" Rafe looked at his watch hurriedly.

"Do we still have time to look for Song by now? I fear the rush hour is getting started," I said.

"If we arrive at the city limits by seven, there's still enough time. But Chinatown is a big problem going there unless we'll take some short detours."

"You're the driver."

"Yeah I know. Do you know how long the travel time is from the tunnels to here?"

I did not respond.

"Two hours. Two whole hours wasted because some idiots in the Flint tunnel had a good idea to crash into each other while you're sleeping it off and having a fucking good time."

"Sorry, can't help it," I replied flatly.

"Tomorrow you'll drive."

"I don't have a problem with that. Just give some directions and we're good to go."

There was a brief silence. Rafe then asked, "Have you missed Los Santos? I mean, we're only a few minutes away from here, might as well-"

"It's only been a couple of days. My apartment's blown to shit, my car's gone, my only close friend there, sorta my brother is kidnapped. Going to LS hasn't entered my mind just yet."

"Think about it right here right now before we go back to SF."

"No," I answered without hesitation.

Rafe's car was nearby. We crossed the empty streets (only offroad motorbikes and slow-moving trucks) and turned a corner from the pizza place. One corner later from the back and that was it. The car stared at us idly, anxiously waiting for its masters. Still the only car in the lot. Unchanged. Unmoved.

We got in, ignitions started, engine purred to life and sailed away back to the path that led us into here. The transition of dusk seemed slow yet smooth, much like the journey. Retreating family wagons and motorhomes packed the way up to the hillside and well-managed turns later, the canopied trees welcomed us again. Shadows darker and sunlight growing thin. Off-topic conversations were flown everywhere inside the vehicle during the ride and the blank memories from my trip slowly filled onwards to the airport tunnel. We crossed the bridge leading to Flint County then ascended up a hill, a chemical factory to our side. The Flint tunnel slipped into view momentarily and down we went toward the tunnel, exiting shortly at the airport intersection.

The radio blared, classic rock music now interrupted. WCTR News - played out.

_On July 6th, The World Properties and Auctions will be having their biggest auction yet in Vinewood, Los Santos. Among in the collections to be auctioned off are the jewel-encrusted Tibetan Buddha statue, a Greek era circlet and shield and the rumored El G—_

Rafe immediately changed the channel to something else. Soul and R&B. He did not bother to let the reporter finish everything. The music continued on somehow and the news break did nothing to break the flow. We hauled on toward the highway onramp and onto the elevation. Vehicles from the county zipped past toward the interchange ahead. A highway sign directing overhead. Tierra Robada ahead. Missionary Hill to interchange. Doherty to interchange. Dockside ahead.

"Do you remember the riots in Los Santos last year?" Rafe suddenly asked, eyes on the road.

"Heard of it. Moved in two months after it. The city is still a mess after the riots. Felt like a wasteland out there during those days. I'm quite surprised the city managed to turn it around by August."

"It was all over here. The cop that started it died in the middle of the riot. Quite brave and stupid of him to go to the streets since he was the one that started it in the first place."

"The court case must've made him broke."

"No doubt about it. I heard he died stripped naked by looters."

"Shot?"

"No. Car crash."

"Ah. Probably the best way to die at that time," I remarked, "I'm surprised it didn't spread here." We were already approaching the interchange, Rafe changed lanes to the right. An arcing section straight ahead from the lane.

"The city doesn't have business with anything that's going on in LS. It was a major police problem. Gang conflict more likely."

"I don't know about that one. There were no gang wars since the riots ended. A few firefights and raids here and there but that was it. Los Santos had never been slightly safer."

We turned to an arc, joined to a lane where a stadium stood beside and a tunnel going through. Similar dividers in the middle from when I first arrived here. Traffic was moderate, not enough to go full turbo through the tunnel.

"Sonny arrived in LS first right?" Rafe asked.

"Correct."

"You?"

"About a month after."

"The place in Las Colinas, did you-"

"No. It was me. Sonny had nothing to do with it."

"Why there?"

"To live quietly I suppose. Living in some luxury would be too imposing."

"Houses there, not cheap?"

"There's that. Stayed in a hotel in Pershing Square for a while. I looked at the beaches there, all shared spaces with yuppies. Vinewood, too on-the-nose. Downtown… too pretentious."

"Uh huh. Yeah."

The car barreled through the tunnel, the chopping engine resounding the tube. Sedans and compact cars whizzed by, as if in slow motion. The end was there, in blinding light, nearly touched. A lane change away out of a box truck's behind and we exited out. Now stopping at an intersection, opposite to where we were before. Manor closely beside us and the familiar way now a signal light forward. Red light felt like forever and the occasional horns blared ruthlessly against the wind. Rafe hunched forward, craning a view to a shoreline. I slacked into the seat, waiting. We were given the green light then turned right. Same path as going to the pub, The Deer, but this time, to a different place. Li Song's alleged residence was nearby. We moved along the road, straight, almost in a hypnotic trance. Now blocks of narrow housing, tightly packed with each other, lined up the streets, almost eternal. The houses looked generic, if not uninspired. Two stories. Every entrance had a staircase. Elevated. Ground floor, another residence. Different colors but the same design. Flat roof. Concrete. Open yard. The works.

We moved along the street slowly, to a crawl. Our eyes shifted and searched the house numbers for the right address.

"He's somewhere in these houses right?"

"Yeah," I assured, looking at the paper, illuminated by the passing streetlights. The dusk came to a close - dark grey and the yellow emanations bleeding overhead. "House 15. We're in Argyle Drive right?"

"Yep."

The numbers went on. One. Three. Five. Six. Seven. Ten. Twelve. I caught a tiny glimpse of the number. Fifteen. House Fifteen. Dressed in cradling blue. Trimmed in solemn white. We stopped across the house, looking at it sideways. The windows were curtained, not a speck of light shearing the fabric. We were met without the resident.

"So, is he there?" Rafe asked.

"I don't know."

"Should we wait for him?"

"I don't know."

Waiting would be unideal if blocking our lane seemed generous to describe it. Our gaze focused head-on to the house, vacant, reserved. Our necks twisted, immobile.

"Don't you think he's coming back soon?" Rafe thought out loud.

"Yeah but it's already six-thirty. I don't think he'll be home by then."

"Next location?"

I nodded. We drove out of there, to Chinatown. The trip went as we expected. Rough lurches from all the sudden stops, the traffic jam endlessly stuffing the way to the district but we made it. The address was not another residence surprisingly, but a shop.

A betting shop.

A tinted wide window and a door. On it were decals of Chinese variety. Tacked cash signs stick out shamelessly. Red storefront awning covered the entrance. People went in and out in a rush. We stopped across the entrance, on the wide road, sloping. Good thing Rafe's car had excellent brakes. We asked each other in the vehicle, the temptation of a visit looming fast.

"He's probably inside there."

I let out a disbelieving sigh. "Dammit. Alright, looks like we have to go in."

"Be wary that this is Triad territory."

"We're not doing anything stupid in there. We'll just look and wait for him," I said, "what does he look like?"

Rafe let out a hesitative lisp, efforted, "He's about sixty years. Scrawny. Wears round glasses. Black hair with grey streaks."

"Alright. Who's going in?"

Rafe looked at me smugly and said, "Not me. I already found Troy, now it's your turn."

He had a point there. I almost snapped back at him but he had a point. I did not forward a response anymore. I unbuckled and got out of the car.

"Hey," Rafe yelled. I turned around. His head poked into view of the passenger window and said, "I'll be driving round the block and wait for you near the entrance."

"Yeah sure, I'll look around," I acknowledged. Rafe then joined into the traffic, going up the hill.

I crossed the street against the slow-moving traffic and entered the betting shop. The lobby was packed. Bettors and bookies made up the population. Rows of small television bolted the wall, almost kissing the ceiling. They were facing down, to eye level to the money vultures and the statistic-obsessive gentlemen. No discrimination within. Be it an American, Chinese, English or Thai. Everyone is welcome to lose and win money, to the benefit of the Triads. Horse races darted the screens. Four horses in horizontal 2D view. The blue horse was ahead and red not far behind. Orange and purple were neck-and-neck from the last. Jeering and applause were thrown around. Questions from each other popped out occasionally. I squeezed through the gaps in the crowd, looking for Song somewhere in the sea of heads. A bit of push here and there from the unintentional movements almost made me stumble. From a corner lay two ATMs and a bulk of the crowd. I pressed on toward the center but the heads seemed identical. I turned, almost dizzying, to find out the exception. I lurched forward but slowly. Another squeeze. Gap to gap now walled by excited and tense bodies from each side. Just one more step. Squeeze. I am now facing a wall. Few more steps. Squeeze.

There he was, finally.

Li Song. He was talking business with some similar Chinese fellows, three of them dressed in black with yellow trims on sleeves, away from the pack. They blocked the sole staircase going up a floor. A sign that said _AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL ONLY. DO NOT ENTER._ hung on the velvet rope behind them. I retreated into the crowd and out of the shop.

Rafe parked close, headlight sticking out, a couple of steps away. I re-entered the vehicle. The door slammed heavily.

"Seen him?" Rafe asked, looking at me, one arm relaxed on the window and the other on the steering wheel.

"He's there. Now we wait," I relayed.

The waiting game. _How long could it be?_

Thirty minutes had passed. Li Song was nowhere to be seen. The eager and the defeated went about the betting shop. In and out. The roaming passersby went along merrily, focused on getting through the day. Overcoats and sweaters in depressing colors blended along the contemporaries, a soft transition of a trend. Apartment windows bloomed against the grey-yellow star-sparse skies. A smell of sweet sensation drifted toward me, hidden in the urban smoke and cement. The lack of a door opening permeated the view. Rafe rested his chin on the wheel, fingers fidgeting. I propped my boredom to my fist, elbows on the open window. Soul music interspersed by emcee announcements droned on the watch. A few games of Q&A between Rafe and I were thrown in during it.

A door opened once again. Arm seen. Then the body. Li Song, now solitary, was walking away from view, going downhill.

"Oh shit, it's finally him!" My eyes widened, arms stumbled from the surprise.

"Yeah no shit," Rafe blurted. The gearbox cocked and Rafe came in steady, all hands on deck and said, "Let's wait till he turns in the corner."

Song turned right, now obscured by a storefront corner. Rafe then drove. The traffic lights flashed red and we stopped exactly at the head of an intersection. I glanced sideways as Song walked away, back facing our side.

"Where do you think he's going?" I asked.

"We'll just follow him until he goes somewhere."

Time was going away, so was Li Song. He then went to a corner, to the right. Still on the red light. Rafe looked impatient, hands came close to crushing the rubber wheel.

_Come on. Be green. Be green._

The light gave in. We immediately turned right and then right after an intersection. The vehicle crept close to Song, still walking a distance from us, ascending up. He then turned right to an alleyway. Rafe parked front just as Li Song entered a gunmetal grey door. The alleyway was two persons wide and a deadend. Ventilation shafts hung the chipped red brick walls, smoking. The door situated itself three-quarters of the length of the way, on four short flights of steps.

We exited out the car, engines still roaring softly. Rafe and I fast-walked toward the entrance.

"We gotta wait behind. I'll do the talking," Rafe instructed. I simply nodded.

We hid standing by the door, close to some garbage bags, rusted steel pipes and greened dumpster bins. Rafe shushed, waiting for Song to come out.

That sweet smell began to intensify. Fifteen minutes passed by and so was the unrelenting stressed silence. The door creaked heavily and shut, Song stepped down to the alleyway floor. We got out of hiding and approached Song, his head swiveled from the footsteps behind him. Rafe came forward and pressed Song against the alley wall. Song whiplashed from the force.

"Hello, friend," Rafe greeted.

Li Song's face flushed with fear, "W-w-w-w-what do you want?" His voice clear as an American, no accent. His hands raised at chest level, palm facing us.

"Remember me?"

Song's face trembled, sweating heavily from all the surprise. He seemed to know Rafe well, "You! What are you doing here? Don't you have some job to take care of?"

His hands squeezed tightly against the clothing, "I have to take care of a favor from my friend over here."

Song looked at me, terrified, pointed at me. "W-w-who's that?"

"Oh, my friend way back. Say, do you remember the diamonds?"

"The what?"

Rafe shook Song violently. "Don't play fucking dumb with me, where's the diamonds I gave to you?"

"The diamonds! Yes yes the diamonds!" Song's face puckered, sweated, hands shaking, worryingly.

"Where is it?"

"It-it-it's in my apartment in Ocean Flats. It's there! It's there!"

Rafe released his heavy grip. "Now, why don't you join us for a ride. Don't bother giving us directions. We'll take you there."

"What? How'd you know—"

"Just don't. We just want the diamonds and we'll be outta here."

"Do you think my boss will forget this? You have no idea what you're doing here," Song warned, almost scrambling to speak out.

"I already know what I'm dealing with here Li." Rafe's arm swept to the side toward the direction of the parked car and said, "Matt, lead the way. You stay behind him. I lead the back."

I coolly led the way out. Li Song hesitated for a bit but was led on anyway by Rafe, forcefully. We walked back to the car, slowly.

"Don't do anything stupid Li."

"Why are you taking back on your word? They will hunt you down."

"Yeah I know. A dumb move, whatever. We've done this before."

"Remember that you're working with us, they won't let a betrayal sl—"

_THUNK!_

I turned around quickly as soon as I heard it. Li Song poleaxed to the ground. Rafe was wielding a bent rusty steel pipe, up to the side, now bloodied.

"WHAT THE FUCK!" I exploded in disbelief, surprise and anger, all at the same time. Mixed emotions came bursting out of the seam.

The steel pipe bounced against the ground like a metronome then laid rest.

"Do you really think that we're gonna let him go like that?" he said, "I'm not that dumb."

"He was trying to lead us back to his home! What the hell man."

Rafe crouched near Song's unconscious body, patting it out and said, "We could still go there even without him."

"Then what? Some strangers entering some guy's home?" I argued, angered by the lack of caution.

Rafe's hand slipped into the jean pocket and brandished a small notebook. He flipped through the pages messily and replied, "Yeah, I don't think we'll be going there right now."

He closed it and threw the notebook at me. I caught it and flipped through the pages to see what Rafe was talking about. I landed on a page.

It read:

_DIAMONDS 75g - WAREHOUSE 2 PIER 69 WATERFRONT. ESPLANADE. TO BE SENT TO SHANGHAI EARLY JULY 1993._

Rafe got up and walked past me.

"Wait, where are you going?" I closed the notebook, turning my head to his direction.

"Keep an eye on him. If he gets up, whack him again. Harder. I'll go get something from the car."

I turned my attention to Li Song. Blood pooled around his head, his face to side, pressed on the ground. Helpless, barely clinging to reality. Probably a heavy hit. A spritz of water fell down on us. Presumably from the condensation from the vent shafts. But it grew. Lightly. It was already a drizzle. Concrete petrichor steamed from the wet upbringing.

Rafe appeared, with a white nylon rope and knife on hand. He bent down tying the arms and legs of Li Song. I could only watch, back facing the street as to obstruct any curious look. Ropes fastened the wrists and ankles. Rafe cut the final knot. Li Song was good to go.

"Quick, get the body. I've already opened the trunk. Hurry before we'll be seen," Rafe hurried.

I lifted Li Song and hung him by the shoulder. Rafe ran ahead of me, waiting in the car. I plodded down the alleyway, a step feeling like anvil. Now out on the street then into the trunk in one swift motion. I hauled myself into the car and we bolted out of there.

"Jesus Christ," I muttered.

"We'll dump it out to sea," Rafe said.

"To where exactly?" I expressed, fingers forked through my hair.

"To… to… Got it! The shoreline near the manor. There's no people there. We'll just dump the body down and let the currents drag it somewhere outta here."

"Do you think it's a great idea?"

"Well there's no choice. I'll take you there."

To the shoreline it is then. Eventually, I got the initial shock right out of the system midway to the trip. It has been years since I saw someone get killed or rather, I killed someone. That was still in Vice. The jobs I took here had always been routine, short of a delivery or threatening messages. In the end, that was how all the life of a criminal should be. Just waiting for someone who's nastier than you to bite you in the ass.

A quarter to nine o'clock and we arrived at the dumping grounds. The drizzle had been steady, no outbursts so far. The sand became sticky by the rain but the vehicle got over it quite easily. No passing vehicles. No bystanders. Just me, Rafe and Li Song. Out for a swim. The beach was hauntingly quiet and dark. The vehicle lights kept us company. We stopped at a distance, close to the dissipating waves.

"Dump the body there," Rafe ordered, trunk sprung. I got out and retrieved the body. I carried it over my shoulder and walked a few meters away from the car. The area I'm seeing was deep. A steep drop. I threw the body carelessly to the ocean. The body floated and then sank like a deadweight.

I headed back and went in.

"So what are we going to do now?" I asked.

"We'll just wait for tomorrow. Pier 69 right?" Rafe answered.

"Yep. Pier 69."

The car lurched forward and we went home.

### Chapter 16: Pressure and Time

Time ticked to nine o'clock approximately.

The entirety of day five was consumed by preparations and the drive from Rafe's place to here. The yesterday's events were but a memory now. Rafe woke up early and cooked breakfast for us. Eggs and ham with bread. The usual nutrients. I woke up at ten o'clock so my share of the food was already lukewarm. But, it did not matter. I ate, showered and waited for the right time to go. My dear friend had already done his bit, slacking off on the couch watching television. Clothing came as a loan, not a favor. Guns, holsters and communication was all I had left. Money was coming in short but it doesn't hurt to borrow right? All five hours wasted at home. The rest prior to our arrival here were spent exploring San Fierro, top to bottom.

 _Doherty_ had seen better days. A construction site occupied a whole block in the middle of the district. A site for an apartment complex with no completion on the horizon. Rafe told me that it was a remnant of the earthquake here. Still, the building was a skeleton, long rebars seemingly snaked out of unfinished columns. Three stories high, so far. Across it was the sole train station of the city. Tucked in the corner of the site was a garage with cars parked out front. A demolished lot and a driving school halved a particular block south of the district. The rest were warehouses, a fire station and small commercial blocks. Much of the district was planned for an urban renewal, whatever it might be.

 _Easter Basin_ is the big industrial district that the city has to offer. Warehouses. Dockside. Cargo ships. You name it. At least Doherty next door was quaint. Not as big as the Los Santos Port but it has a naval base, I could give it that. I hope we won't be spending time in a military lot anytime soon.

I am already familiar with _Downtown & Financial_. Quite bog standard. The usual fare of heavy traffic jams, buildings with ornate stoneworks and other pretentious BS are always the mark of a busy town. This was where we spent much of our time, mostly because of traffic. Their most famous building here was the Big Pointy Building. Seventy-eight stories and a pointy pinnacle. How symbolic. High-class fashion shops and fast food places, can't forget that in a big city. Citizens mosey along the busy sidewalks and cars flood the streets. Financiers, shoppers, hippies, yuppies, valets, workers, tourists, pickpockets… whatever.

 _City Hall & Queens_, where government institutions and city red tape go to die. Queens is the home to the gay community, quite fitting actually, and pubs where drinkers and rowdies live. Row houses, shared spaces, orgies and crime constitute the district. Go figure. City Hall is City Hall, no further discussions. Cozy square, though. Federal Mint lives nearby though crossing it through my mind will attract too much heat. I'll think about it when the time is right.

 _Chinatown_ needs no further details as well. Mixed commercial spaces by the Asian community, what more could you ask for?

And lastly, the _Espalanades_. We got here around seven o'clock. By the time we got there, the place was already filled with tourists and go-getters, like a true hangout of the city, a tourist trap even. Most of these concentrations lie in Pier 69. The rest were warehouses poking out of the bay like fingers. Large black numbers marked the warehouses from one to five. We arrived in Warehouse Six.

Pier 69 was a walking distance from Six and we just need to find Warehouse Two. Good thing the warehouses were marked in order. Warehouse Two was right beside Pier 69. Tourists packed the vicinity. We walk toward Warehouse Two, blending with the crowd, and circled around. I pressed my face to one of the dusty windows to search the insides. Seemed empty inside, no activity, quite a contrast outside. Blurred darkness and shadows of stacked crates made up the interior.

We went to Pier 69 to wait.

The robin-egg colored buildings that made up Pier 69 really stood up from its brethrens. Food stalls and fast food places occupied its spaces below, shops of touristy needs above. Gangways crossed the courtyard to the other side. Vintage lamp posts illuminated the area like fireflies. Locals strolled in the wharf, frolicking, taking pictures with loved ones. Lovebirds perched the tables with enamors and romantics. Skateboarders and rollerskaters cruised along the crowd. And mall cops patrolled with watchful eyes. The pier opened up to a spacious dock that overlooked the bay, the famous Gant Bridge in the distance to the west and the silhouetted county across. Eaters frequented the packed tables and tourists of diverse backgrounds snapped photos of the shadowed scenery ahead. We simply opted for a railing relaxation, not wanting a dinner or a postcard for now.

Rafe opened up a cigarette packet and put a stick in his mouth. He offered a stick to me, "Want one?"

"Sure," I replied. I took it, snapped it in half and threw it away. And I looked at the bay, stern.

Rafe scowled and said, "You could've just… ah, forget it." He flicked his lighter up close to his cigarette hanging from his mouth and asked, "having fun here yet?"

"Depends."

He snickered, puffing a smoke. "Because if we get the diamonds tonight, you'll be the one driving with your one eye closed," he said, "that sightseeing we did is for you to familiarize yourself, if you want to live here after."

"Thanks. I'll keep that in mind."

"Yeah sure. These past days were all move-alongs, the most I had since that delivery job from Chinatown to the county junkyard. Since you've come back to my life, I've never been so busier than before."

"Stick around for longer and you'll be as busy as you are now."

"I've already done my part in Liberty and Vice."

"Yeah when things go south you always run away."

"I was being cautious. We've had run-ins sure but some are the nasty bunch. That Liberty thing was inevitable. The cops were closing in, breathing down our necks."

I scoffed, "You bailed unannounced while Sonny and I took care of the problem. Good thing there was help, even as weird as it is, and we bust our tails outta there to Stockton. Where were you? Where did you run away after that?"

"South to Blackwater, three years, then to Vice, right where we meet ourselves again."

"So after this you'll just leave this place and find a new one ain't it?"

"That's the way it goes."

"Yeah? How about the Triads, do you think they'll just forget all of this?"

"I'll just hightail out of here as soon as you get the diamonds. Besides, I already had my money."

"To where exactly then?"

"I don't know," he said pointing across the bay, cigarette tucked between his fingers, "there I think, where nobody could find me."

"You think you'll survive that long?"

"I lived in Florida, I'll find a way. I'll always find a way."

I sighed and said, "Well my fairweather friend, I can't stop you. Right now, all I can say is thanks."

"Don't mention it," Rafe finished his cigarette down to a stub, he promptly flicked it away down to the waters.

"Why are we this way Rafe?"

"Because we're dropouts. We do jackshit in Liberty and Florida. Every job we do is trouble. Now that we're retired, our past is catching up to us."

"All this for quick money, right?"

He laughed, almost depressingly and said, "Yeah, that's how we go I suppose."

"I should've finished college when I had the chance but I think I don't have a future where I'm going. St. Matthias didn't offer that much. Ignition Circumvention? Where can I get a job like that in this environment," I said, "my roommate hooked me up with some guy who was making a lot of money and that's where I found you."

"Aren't you parentless?"

"I am. Father left me when I was three in Stockton and mother died in a car accident when I was seventeen. College fund was from her, bequeathed, and it quickly dried up. I was close to my final years in college."

"You moved to Liberty when?"

"About thirteen years old. Liberty City was supposed to be a break away from Stockton but, you already know how it ends."

Rafe remarked, "Liberty City wasn't friendly to begin with. Bullies everywhere, elementary to high school," he said, "you know what's the punishment for badly beating up one? Expulsion and juvenile. Two years. That's where I meet Kevin, you know Kevin right?"

"Yeah, Kevin Dyne. The mechanic."

"Yes, so he introduces me to Sam Golleti. He taught me the way they do on the streets. Shame he got whacked by the Leone family. He was as close to a father as mine."

"Father gone?" I asked.

"Oh no. Parents still alive. They still don't know what I've been doing even today. I haven't had a criminal record and I plan to stay that way."

"Why didn't you come clean and enter a real job then?"

"I already told you and I need money. This ain't enough, okay?"

"Enough? When is it enough?"

His lips pressed, trembling, his face looked reluctant, eventually he replied, "I don't know when it is enough."

"I hope you can change your mind on that. Enough running away and for you to come clean."

"Come clean? Clean about what?"

"Lacking money is not a justifiable excuse. I know it's more than that."

"More about what?"

"How much do you have right now?" I coaxed.

"Ten thousand bucks."

I stared wide-eyed, blinked rapidly in surprise. "What? We've broken a bank for one hundred fifty and you only got ten thousand in your pocket? Unbelievable."

"Most of the money were spent from that house, that house you're hiding in, understand? Look, let's just concentrate on what we're here for. The warehouse right? Let's talk about the warehouse."

"Okay, fine. I'll bite."

"Anyway, the warehouse is empty and dark. That means they're only out at night."

"Likely since there's not a lot of people roaming around that time. There are crates in there as well."

"It's a warehouse. It's a storage place. I'd expect an office, pool table and cubicles to go down with it."

"Shut up," I said, "do you have any idea what's inside?"

"No. I haven't been there. They're only giving me the errand stuff."

"I see. Looks like we don't have a choice but to sneak inside."

Rafe sighed, "Looks like it. Hey, are you hungry yet?" he looked at his wristwatch and said, "it's already eight o'clock."

"Sure. Where to?"

"You up for pizza?" Rafe pointed at the direction. "It's just right 'round the corner from the entrance."

"I'm more of a burger guy but sure," I said.

We then sailed off to the pizza parlor, making our way through the plentiful crowd, the welcoming wooden arch etched in semi-rusted brass letters passing by overhead. Then we went in the pizza parlor. The interior was a standard fare, the unremarkable commercialistic sort, a stark contrast from the wooden shacked exterior befitting for a sailors and dock theme. But we were not looking for a critique, only hunger. I pointed out my food of choice from the slanted overhead menus to Rafe and he went in line. I found a table by the windowside and sat beside the window looking across, waiting. Waiting for time. Waiting for a moment. Waiting. Always waiting.

Much like the diamonds, we were subjected to pressure and time, buried beneath by the gravity of our situation. The precious seconds, minutes, spent for pieces of rocks as if our lives were not as valuable. But, it was already done and now we were caught in a collision between the actual owners (which I highly doubt if they were) and the Triads, who were unaware of it all. Could we still find ourselves to our own excuses? It was up for them to decide and for us to act. And here we were, trying. Trying not to die. Trying to appeal. This was a sad pathetic path we tread into. A flimsy plot. The slow burn that reveal the way. And we were getting close. The diamonds from the Triads. The first real step. Collect the diamonds and onwards, out of this mess.

Time ticked to nine o'clock approximately.

Rafe and I finished dinner. Two pieces of long pepperoni pizza and a large soda for me and caesar salad, a long ham and anchovies pizza and garlic sticks for him. Flat yet nutritious. Too much grease though. We sat by waiting for the crowd to dwindle down, time ticking away and away to our moment. The conservations rolled along, empty plates and leftovers (mainly the crusts) rested between us on the tables. Warehouse Two was right across from the window, empty, patient, dark. Chatter of different languages bounced inside the pizza place.

"No sign of life yet. When will they come?" I said, looking at the warehouse.

"This place will close down by eleven and it's," Rafe looked back to his watch and said, "nine fifteen. Two hours left," he held out two fingers then crossed his arms on to the table.

"One entrance and that's right across the street." I pointed from across the window.

"Right. There's no side doors when I checked around. That's the only way we can get through inside," Rafe said, "we can just blast ourselves through."

"No, that should be our last resort."

"How about the sewers? We can check a way in below the docks."

"The pipe will be too small and too high for us to reach it. Also, don't the city have regulations for that sort?"

"Yeah you're right."

The conversation got off-topic for an hour or so eventually. Empty warehouse be damned.

Time ticked to ten o'clock and we were seeing movements. Three Triad members entered and opened the warehouse and a van backed up inside. Minutes past and another group showed up in a Washington sedan, four of them. Then, another car and, another. Twelve in total went in, packing rifles and submachine guns. The warehouse by now was fully illuminated and the crowd became sparse, less people roaming around. The door was halfway down, footprints of crates backdropped the glow. The number in the pizza parlor was by a handful. Employees were cleaning up vacant tables, leftovers and dignity. We moved out when the crowd outside became sparse and waited across the street, sitting in a cold bench.

Time ticked to eleven, close to midnight and only us and the Triads remained. The nightly fog entered in from the bay and virtually no people were walking about, more so with the traffic. Perfect. We got up when the fog rolled over us and venture in steadily and with caution. Poor visibility all around. Darkened outlines of the buildings formed ahead, marred and smoked. Streetlights and the warehouse shone through, like promiscuous teases. Absence of headlights passing by gave an almost ghost town look, as if some pale figures were waiting behind us, making malice out of this opportunity.

We crossed the street back on the footsteps of Pier 69 alive — no phantoms nor vexations.

We made our way to Warehouse Two now, like clueless and gullible moths.


End file.
